


A little way down the road

by the_nita



Series: What happened after New York [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Roleplay Logs, Triggers, collab rp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 43,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nita/pseuds/the_nita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when Natasha & Clint drive away at the end of The Avengers (and what happens when littleblue & I start RPing for the first time). Gets NSFW in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So littleblueartist & I started RPing in the last little while. I did some editing and put it into a rough story format. 
> 
> Yeah - so this is how it starts…any edit issues are my fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collab rp between littleblueartist (on tumblr) & I.
> 
> Any edit issues are my fault.

Clint drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, losing the fight to stay out of his own head. Director Fury had basically told the agents "Don't call us, we'll call you" and given them leave until things calmed down. He glanced over at Natasha, and suddenly their conversation on the helicarrier replayed in his head, "You're a spy, not a soldier. But now you want to wade into a war. What did Loki do to you?" He had asked. His partner had simply said that she had been compromised. But he couldn't help but feel there was more to it than that. He had seen something in her eyes, just under the surface of her cool facade.

Watching her partner fidget with the steering wheel, Natasha eased her seat back slightly and let the breeze dance through her hair. Clint was still silent. Best guess said that he was still beating himself up for the events of New York. She knew the only way to play this was to wait him out. She's tipped her hand enough on the helicarrier when he had asked why she wanted to fight. What did he expect? Loki had taken her *partner*, the only man she had ever been able to call that. Compromised didn't even begin to cover how she felt. Sunglasses are handy tools, allowing her to watch Clint without his awareness.

The pair of agents drove in companionable silence for a couple hours. It had been years since Clint had been to the destination he had in mind, he hoped it still existed. 

The first time he had been to New York, he had been a small boy traveling with the Carson Carnival. The circus had set up shop in a smaller ocean front town just north of the big city. He remembered watching the families coming to see the shows and playing on the beach, wishing desperately that he and his brother could stay in the little town forever. 

He wasn't sure what had made him remember the town or why he wanted to go there. If nothing else it was an out of the way place to hole up and he could show Natasha one of the few places from his childhood that actually held positive memories.

A few hours of contemplating him and studiously ignoring her feelings later, as he pulled off the highway, Natasha’s eyebrow arched as she looked around, wondering what brought them here.

"Barton? Where are we?"

"Aren't you the one always telling me not to give away all my secrets?" Clint responded with a bit of his old humor. He sighed with relief as they crested a hill and the little town came into view. They sped past a white painted sign that read "Welcome to Whitecrest" in weathered gold letters. He cracked his window to let in the ocean breeze. 

It looked almost exactly like he remembered except more worn, like a faded postcard. He took the main drive all the way to the pier, smiling crookedly as he caught Natasha craning her head up to look at the old light house on an outcrop of the shore. 

He parked in the little beach lot and walked around to Natasha's door, opening it for her and earning a sideways look for his trouble. He smiled wistfully as he took in the lovely view of the waves breaking on the sand and the little shops on the pier down the beach.

"Do you think it’s possible to miss something you never even had in the first place?" Clint muttered, pushing his dark shades up the bridge of his nose. Not waiting for a response he started walking down to the surf. When she lingered by the car, he turned back and called out to her, "Come on, I want to show you something!"

Natasha greeted Barton's crack with an eye roll. They had been open books to each other for long enough that she knew when he was hiding something. Whitecrest, she had to think. Had he ever mentioned Whitecrest before? 

The extra wind from his open window made her hair whip around, getting tangled in her glasses. Pushing them off her face & taming the red mass, she stuck her head out the window to have a look around, especially at the ancient stone lighthouse at the end of the beach. It felt like a Clint place - tall, aloof and something that you could rely on to find you shelter in a storm.

Clint parked the car and hopped around to open her door. "Being a gentleman, are we, Barton?" Long legs swung out of the car, standing next to her partner as he looked around.

She opened her mouth to reply to his question, but he took off down to the beach with his usual cavalier assumption that she'd follow. 

"Like being partners with a six year old — Attention span of a gnat," she muttered to herself as she started picking her way along the sand & rocks.

Clint chuckled; his sharp ears didn't miss her little remark about his apparent lack of attention span, which he found ironic considering that his patience was probably one of his better known traits. Still, any chance he could get to tease his partner, he would take.

Natasha paused briefly to kick off her boots and toss them back at the car. Walking in heels in the sand was a good way to aggravate an already unhappy ankle. She caught up to him quickly, walking silently as the archer lead her through the dunes of the beach to the underside of the pier. 

He led her down the beach till they got to the tall, weathered wooden pillars supporting the pier above. The air under the pier was cooler and the spray from the ocean clung to their faces. Clint removed his sunglasses and ducked under one of the lateral support beams, finding what he was looking for.

He crouched down and inspected the wood. Wiping away some caked on sand and algae. A small circle was carved into the wooden beam, inside it were listed the initials C.B. and B.B.

"I told you that my brother and I practically grew up in the circus... We came here once, a long time ago. We promised we'd come back here one day, maybe buy a condo on the beach." He shook his head slightly and ran his thumb over his brother's initials. "After everything that happened between us, I ended up swearing off this place for good, but... I'm glad it's still here now." He glanced up at the redhead, the corner of his lips tugging up in a bittersweet smile.

She could hear the pain in his voice - it was always there when he talked about Barney - but Nat could hear a different tone in his voice as well. Watching her partner stare at the carving, Nat's heart broke a little. She knew entirely too well what it was like to lose your way. She was glad that he found a bit of his way home and more glad than she was comfortable with that he chose to bring her with him.

He smiled up at her, words captured in that sardonic twist of his lip that said to her that her partner was getting caught up in something.

The cooler air made her shiver slightly and she wrapped her arms around her chest. "Thank you for showing me this, Clint." Small white teeth grasped the edge of her bottom lip as she struggled between her desire to respect her partner's privacy and her natural curiosity about all things Barton. "What brings you back to this today?"

Clint rubbed the back of his head a little sheepishly, her question making him realize he hadn't really understood why he wanted to come back here until she made him think about it directly. "I guess I'm just... Glad things turned out how they did for me. Sometimes when you get lost, you don't find your way back." He glanced back at the little carving, his heart clenching a bit.

The archer noticed his partner shivering a bit and tossed his head at her, walking back out into the warmth of the sun that was just starting to set over the ocean. "Hey, you hungry? I remember the diner here had great fish and chips." He asked with a grin, crumpling up his heavy mood and discarding it like an unwanted newspaper. 

Schooling her face back to its normal state of grace, she stepped back into the sunshine after the archer. The sun warmed her and gave her an excuse to hide back under her shades. "I could eat. Granted, I'm trusting your memory from I don't want to know how long ago," she gave a small smile back to him as they headed back to the boardwalk. Barton's jean clad ass was a happy distraction from the seriousness of the moment before.


	2. Chapter 2

The pair made their way up onto the boardwalk and headed to The Gull at the end of the pier. 

Clint smirked at his partner as she took in the picturesque atmosphere; she looked like she was lost on an alien planet. It still a little early for tourist season but still there were plenty of friendly people that grinned and waved at them as they passed like small town people were want to do. He supposed it wasn't exactly what the redhead was used to.

She would never really get used to the feel of this. Yes, she had been in small towns as a child, but between the difference of Russia version the US and that most of her childhood had been Red Room, the culture shock was always a bit much.

Complete strangers would wander by and chat up Barton like they knew him and his natural good-natured attitude encouraged it. She shook her head slightly and slid further into her working persona, concentrating on blending in. 

One particular smirk of his was greeted with a doe eyed look of adoration as she grabbed his bicep, linking them together. “Darling, this place is just adorable and the people are so friendly. I’m so glad you talked me into this. Now, you silly thing, you said we were going to get some dinner?” she cooed, internally grinning at his gaping expression.

Clint was caught a little off guard by his partner, even after years of seeing her slip personas on and off like silk gowns he was impressed by her acting skills. Her tone and mannerisms would fool anyone that wasn't him. Hell, sometimes she still did keep him guessing.

He couldn't help but notice that she linked their arms to take a jibe at him and how easily he slipped back into his Iowa boy roots, but didn't release her grip once she’d had her fun at his expense. The archer didn't point it out, fearing if he did so she would close back in on herself. If there was one thing he knew about his partner, it was that she didn't like having a light shined on the glimpses of her real emotions when they slipped out. He had pressed his luck plenty back on the flagship.

Tucked into Clint’s side and held there by his strong hand resting over hers, she could almost feel like this could be normal. Her partner, for all his faults, was as much of a gentleman as Rogers could be, maybe more so. He was never dull, that much was sure. More than anything, she appreciated that she could be herself with him. She gradually eased off of the wide eyed local girl routine and, bumping shoulders with him, teased him gently about needing food and coffee soon before she started gnawing on him.

They wandered into the quaint little diner and ordered some food, enjoying the simple but delicious fare and comfortable conversation. It was comfortable with Clint being his charming self and trying to tease the redhead into being herself. For the most part, she indulged him, relaxing and enjoying the moment. For the first time in days, she could just relax and be. Having her partner here for that was a huge part of it. There was a small TV set up on the bar and it was tuned to the news, images of Midtown being torn up by aliens flashing across it.

Clint tried to ignore it, only glancing at the screen out of the corner of his eye and hoping that their faces wouldn't show up anywhere on the shaky clips of the devastation that had been captured by cell phones and more foolish than brave news crews. The camera panned to a shot of the pillar of blue energy shooting up to the giant gash in the sky that Loki’s minions had used to invade their world.

Natasha could see the frustration and self-loathing rise to the surface on Barton’s face. She heard his question about being unmade on the helicarrier and as if there was a live feed from his mind to hers, she sensed his disgust.

A sharp pain flashed behind Clint’s eyes and he flinched, his fists balling up as he fought off the urge to cry out in pain. He shot a panicked look at his partner and stumbled up from the booth, rushing outside as discreetly as possible. He rounded the corner of the restaurant and crouched down out of sight with his head in his hands. He struggled to breathe through the throbbing white hot pain, his vision swimming with crackling blue energy.

Natasha tossed a handful of cash down on the table and swiftly left the restaurant, following the anguished archer. She found him tucked in an alley, head in hands, whimpering. She reached for his shoulders. “Barton. Clint. Talk to me.” 

His eerily blue eyes opened to gaze at her and her heart sank like a stone.

“Tasha…” Clint rasped as he looked up at her, one hand rising to grip her wrist like a lifeline and the other clenching into a white-knuckled fist at his hip. He stared into her clear blue eyes, his world narrowing to fighting off the searing agony threatening to swallow him up. The archer managed to stay just ahead of it, trying to push it down and focus on Natasha instead.

Natasha kept her eyes focused on her partner. The sweat beaded on his brow as his hand crushed around her wrist. She took a breath to her way through the sudden pain. His grip had always been impressive and it wasn't any different now. 

Clint cursed under his breath as he waited for it to pass. It was an aftershock of the blinding agony that he had been immersed in while he was under the influence of the Tesseract. He’d had one or two flashes since Natasha had brought him out of the cube’s thrall, and apparently the fun wasn't quite over yet. 

She kept calm and focused on the archer as he powered the way through whatever was happening. She watched the blue flare in his eyes, almost to an incandescent level, and then fades back to their normal colour.

“It’s—alright—” Clint managed to hiss through clenched teeth. He could see the distress in Natasha’s face, and he struggled to regain his composure with little success. “It’ll pass, just— give me a minute.” He took a deep breath, relaxing his grip on her arm as the flash subsided. She reached up with her free hand to graze his temple with the tips of her fingers, smoothing the grimace of pain from him.

The marksman had managed to hide the previous attacks from the team. Even in the midst of the Midtown battle when it had hit him after crashing through that window, his adrenaline rush had allowed him to power through the pain. He had hoped he could avoid Natasha ever finding out about the less than pleasant side effects of having a demi-god turn his mind inside out. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that he wasn't that lucky.

“Fuck me that hurts like hell.” He groaned as he forced himself to stand back up, rubbing his eyes and blinking a few times, his vision finally clearing up and the pain receding to a dull ache behind his eyes. He risked a glance up at his partner; honestly he was half surprised and half grateful she hadn't just knocked him out first and asked questions later.

“Okay, Barton. Clearly I didn't hit you hard enough the first time. You want to talk about what just happened?” Hawkeye was her partner and the only man she truly trusted to have her back. If Loki was still inside him at all, she needed to find out and then figure out how she would get him out. Her sharp eyes watched him carefully, looking for any sign that she was going to lose her partner to that Asgardian interloper again.


	3. Sit down, Barton...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha catches up with Clint after he runs from the restaurant.

Clint felt the redhead’s light touches down to the soles of his boots; all of his senses turned up to eleven in the wake of the attack. He clenched and unclenched his fists, shaking out his broad shoulders a bit trying to wind down and compose himself enough to speak. “I don’t know, Nat. This happened once or twice during the Midtown fight, but it’s been hours since the last time… I thought it was over.” God he hated this, hated himself for letting that snake get in his head. Now his partner was looking at him with that soul-piercing gaze only she possessed, taking stock of him and likely wondering if he still posed any threat.

Hell, he wondered the same thing himself. Clint never felt any loss of control during the flashes he’d had, just that searing pain that filled every corner of his head and made him want to put a bullet between his eyes just to make it stop. He dreaded what would happen if any of the powers-that-be at SHIELD found out about these flashes. Fury might trust him, but he had so many marks against him already, this was just the excuse the Council needed to have him thrown in a dark hole.

His silver eyes searched her face, though he wasn't sure what he was looking for. Natasha was the only person he really trusted, she meant everything to him and just the thought that he might lose control and hurt her made him feel sick.

“Notice you haven’t answered my question, Clint.” Natasha looked at him with a steady gaze. The doubt on his face was writ large to both her skills as an interrogator and to her knowledge of the minute changes of her partner’s face. 

She brushed his face again, ensuring his attention, and then dropped her hand to her side. “Listen. I don’t know what he did to you, Barton, but you are my partner. He doesn't—you don’t have to—” her voice died off. The edges of her lips pursed slightly in thought. ”Listen to me. You didn't give up on me, even when everyone in SHIELD thought you were off your chair for giving me a chance. I told you before, don’t do this to yourself. Loki did this, not you.”

Her blue eyes bored into his silver ones. The barest hint of a smile touched her lips as she leaned in to help him stand upright, “Besides, I can still take you. If I have to bash you in the head again, that’s what I’ll do.”

Clint smirked at his partner, swallowing his chagrin and nodding slightly at her words. It bolstered him to know that she had his back; she wouldn’t give up on him even if he wanted her to. He gripped her shoulder as he straightened himself; their faces nearly touching when she leaned in to steady him and it took a considerable amount of will for him not to close the small distance between their lips. 

He berated himself internally; dammit he was better than that. Likely being shaken by the flash was making his carefully cultivated control slip. Barton regularly had to remind himself that it wasn't worth the risk of losing his best friend by making an unwelcome move on his partner. Natasha was used to having men fall all over themselves trying to get with her, but he didn't want to be lumped into that category in her brain. She trusted him, and he wouldn't betray that.

“Oh is that so? Maybe you only won because I wasn't myself. I seem to recall winning a certain bet last time we sparred.” He teased, winking at her and tossing his head toward the street, indicating he was ready to face the world again. They both knew that she had him bested when it came to close combat, though he got the better of her from time to time, and he never let it go when he did.

The redhead rolled her eyes as he avoided the question again. Something she was going to have to quietly stick to for the next while. He was acting more like himself, but that flash was very definitely not normal Barton behaviour. She could provide an entire catalogue of stock Hawkeye mannerisms, but that wasn't one.

As his face nearly grazed hers, she blinked, a touch slower than normal, clamping a tight lid on her reaction to his closeness. Clint had started to dominate more and more of her thoughts since the last time they had worked together - before New York, before New Mexico, back before Natalie Rushman. She hid behind another eye roll, sneaking in a deep breath of his scent. There was something about him, the mix of male, leather and something uniquely Clint that she found unsettlingly comfortable and appealing in equal measures.

“You are never going to give that up, are you? It isn't my fault that Agent Jones walked in and screamed like a little girl. I turned to find out what they were reacting to. You took advantage. I won’t let that happen again.”

The answering grin on his face helped reassure her that her partner was on his way back to his normal self. She leaned over to whisper quietly in his ear, “But we know who gets who pinned on their back the most often, don’t we, Barton.”

She walked away from him with a small smug grin on her face. After all, she was the better agent at close combat. Girl had to do something to keep up with “The Man Who Never Missed” after all.

Clint grinned widely at Natasha’s defense of her loss, amused that a master of manipulation like herself could get huffy over him not fighting fair. His throat closed up when he felt her warm breath on his ear, her little jibe filling his head with volumes of inappropriate thoughts and he stayed a pace behind her for a second just so he could school his expression back to neutral. That damn minx had no idea what she did to him… Or maybe she did, he was never quite sure.

The pair of assassins walked the boardwalk, and the idle time with his partner lifted the archer’s spirits. He was even able to be amused rather than annoyed that one of the little curio stands already had dozens of “Avengers” themed items for sale. He stopped at a bin and picked up a t-shirt that had Stark’s helmet screen printed on it. He chuckled and held it up for his partner to see.

“As if he needed any more of an ego boost,” he quipped, shaking his head and setting the shirt back down.

Eyebrow arched at the Iron Man t-shirt, her lip quirked at Clint’s comment. She thumbed through the other offerings, finding an outlandishly large (even for him) Hulk shirt, as well as a print that made Thor look like something out of a hair product commercial. “They managed to miss us. Good.”

Clint nodded in agreement, having their faces on lunchboxes and coffee mugs would only make their job harder, and anonymity was their greatest defense in their line of work. Not to mention that it was just plain weird. 

She grabbed a hold of Barton’s bicep again, slipping easily back into the persona of the tourist couple as she steered him away from the cheap souvenirs and any possible trigger memories. The archer relaxed and enjoyed walking side by side with her in this quaint little bubble away from the dangerous realities of their lives just waiting for them to return. She didn't need him dropping down his well again.

He was about to suggest finding a place to stay when Natasha steered him away from the lights and sounds of the boardwalk and broke away from him to wander down among the dunes. He trailed along several paces behind her, enjoying the sway of her hips and the way the breeze made her fiery curls dance around her face as she walked. Finally she stopped some distance away from the pier and he wandered up to meet her, not really sure why she had led him all the way out here, but he would take any chance he could get to be with her with her barriers down like this.

The sun was low on the horizon, making Natasha glad for her sunglasses. She sank down into a dune, far away from the others who might hear and looked firmly at her partner. “Sit. We’re going to talk.” 

She sat on the gentle rise of a sand dune and he peered down at her, a crooked grin on his face. Her tone sobered him and his shoulders slumped a little in defeat. Natasha Romanov was nothing if not persistent. Instead of sitting he opted for reclining on his back beside her, stretching out and folding one arm behind his head. The stars were steadily sparkling into view as the sunlight bled out of the atmosphere, and when he tipped his head sideways to meet his partner’s face he couldn't help but appreciate the way the rich red light set off her creamy skin.

“I’m listening.” He murmured with none of his usual sarcasm. His chest felt tight and he had to make the conscious effort not to fidget with the sand with his free hand.


	4. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wherein Natasha doesn't let Clint NOT talk about it.

The wind ruffled her hair, obscuring her view of the prone archer. An impatient hand pushed it up and off her face as she watched his face lose its animation. ”Barton. You have to trust me. I don’t know what happened back there but I do know that wasn't your normal post-mission reaction. I can’t have your back properly if you don’t talk to me.”

In any other woman, you would have said she flopped on her stomach next to her partner but with Natasha, it was more of a controlled languid glide like something out of an advanced yoga class. The redhead reached over and tipped his head to face her. “We’re a team, remember? You watch my back, I have yours. Let me in. I don’t want to have to interrogate you. I promised a long time ago I wouldn't do that to you. Don’t make me regret it.”

He nodded slightly to acknowledge he’d listened to her, but words clotted in his throat. He wasn't exactly the sharing type to begin with, and when it came to things like this his gut reaction was to brush of serious topics with a joke. He hadn't exactly learned how to ‘talk about his feelings’ when trying to do so had only earned him a beating growing up. Her gaze was boring into him and it made his gut knot up, he was torn between wanting to share his burden and hating that he had to admit that burden existed in the first place.

She stared at him for a bit, watching him mull over his response in his head. Head cocking to one side, she said, “Here, I’ll make this easier.” She shifted, swinging her legs and tucking her head so that she came down with her head pillowed on his abdomen and her toes digging into the loose sand. “Now I’m not looking at you. Talk to me, Barton.”

He grinned as he felt the weight of her head rest on his abs and sighed a little sheepishly when her actions immediately relieved some of the pressure in his chest. She knew him all too well.

“How am I supposed to deal with this, Nat? Everything I have, everything I am, I worked my ass off for it. I’m not a super-soldier or a god and I don’t have a fancy metal suit. I’m just a smart-mouth orphan with authority issues who gets by on my wits and strength. What Loki did to me took that away. If I can’t rely on my own mind, on my skills, what good am I?” Clint tugged his shades off as he spoke, setting them by his head and holding his open hand in front of his face in the waning light.

“I thought when you brought me back it was over. That I could at least try to pick up the pieces and attempt to make up for everything I did under that bastard’s control. But I have no way of knowing if these flashes are gonna stop, and I can’t exactly go back to work and say ‘hey, I may or may not still be compromised by a hostile alien influence, give me something to shoot.’” His hand closed into a fist involuntarily and he made himself open his fingers back up and rest his hand on his chest. He hated admitting weakness, and no matter how much the logical part of his brain said that none of what had happened was due to weakness on his part, he couldn't believe it in his heart. 

Resting her head against her partners chiseled abs, Natasha listened to him struggle through what was going through his head. Smart-mouth orphan, indeed. She was intimately aware of that part of his nature. The pain in his voice as he doubted his own control and sanity struck at her. 

She wanted to interject, but years of experience, both in the field and dealing with Barton had taught her. Let him talk. Now that she had finally managed to get him to start, let him talk. Let this dam break so she could get all the pieces and start rebuilding her partner. 

His fear about the flashes was clearly the first thing they would have to deal with. She knew the struggle involved when you didn't know if your own mind was your own. Red Room had left enough of its mark on her. As she had said before, she knew what it was like to be unmade; to have someone go into your brain and play. 

What was useful was that she also knew techniques to learn to trust your own mind again. Techniques that in no small part she had learned during her partnership with the smart-mouth she was resting against. He had taught her that having someone who believed completely in you, even when all the psych evals in the world and the other agents thought you were a monster that should just be put down, having that bedrock of a partner was enough.

She rolled to her side, looking up his chest to where hand lay. She placed her own on top of it, gripping it lightly. “Clint, so now we fix this. Together. Partners. And part of that is you knowing I have your back.”

She lifted his hand and brought it to her own chest, “You once trusted in me enough to let a known assassin into your world. I didn’t have a god running my mind, forcing me, just my training. You saw more than my Red Room training. You and I know Loki was the one who did this. I trust you now. And we’re going to deal with this together.”

Clint went completely still. He could feel her heart pounding in sync with his own. His throat felt tight with emotion and he had to swallow hard before he could speak. “Thanks,” he murmured a whole spectrum of feeling ranging from gratitude to grief contained in that one small word. The simple fact that she trusted him gave him hope. He recalled the early days when he had first brought Natasha in, chipping away at her armor bit by bit and pitting his bulldog-like stubbornness against her adamant mindset that she was a monster that couldn't be salvaged. In the end he had won out, and he still felt grateful every day that he had made a different call when he had been ordered to kill her.

She remembered some of their early days at SHIELD together and chuckled. Quietly, she murmured, “Perhaps I’ll even teach you a few mental tricks not to want to strangle your partner when she pushes you about how ‘awesome’ you are.”

He chuckled a bit at her last remark; oh she had wanted his blood more than once back then. Barton wasn't any kind of psychologist so he had figured the best way to get through to her would be to rattle the cage she had built around herself enough that she’d have no choice but to leave it just to get some damn peace.

“I’m not too worried about that. The difference between you and me is that I already know how damn awesome I am. I don’t need to be told.” He quirked an eyebrow at her with a playful smile tugging at his lips. 

Her mouth made a moue as Barton sassed her about awesomeness. He was right. She would have to take another tack. Not that he really believed he was awesome. She knew that was armor around his real self as much as his flack jacket was. She would need to find opportunities for him to see that in himself. She would have to trust that he would find out just what he could be and what he would do, given the right incentive.

He slid his hand up from over her heart to cup the base of her head, his thumb lightly stroking her delicate jaw. His tone softened as he spoke again, “Nat, promise me something, alright? If there isn't a way to fix this— if I lose control and start hurting people again, I want you to be the one—” His voice trailed off from the intensity of the emotion in her clear blue eyes, but he knew she understood what he meant. He didn't want to be locked up, and when it came right down to it he wanted her to be the one to put him down.

Her blue eyes hardened as she stared into his. “Clinton Francis Barton, I solemnly swear, if you do lose control, you won’t know what hit you.” The redhead trapped his hand to her cheek a moment more, her small smile; one that was only for him, ghosting her lips before she released him and stood, brushing the sand off her jeans. “Up, Barton. It’s late. We need a place to bunk down. You know the town. Where do we go?”


	5. The Whitecrest Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, they have to stay *somewhere*

Clint felt reassured by her confirmation that she would do what was necessary if he lost himself again. It was an understanding they had always had taken to a new level, they always had each other's backs and he knew without a doubt that she would kill him if she had to. Most people would probably be disturbed by that notion, but to the marksman it was like the ultimate form of trust. He quite literally trusted her with his life, for good or for bad.

She smiled at him and his stomach flipped over, damn it just wasn't fair that she could fluster him so easily. He didn't let it show on his face, nodding at her once and letting his fingertips brush down her neck as she pulled away from him. That was a little greedy on his part but he couldn't help himself.

The feel of Clint's fingers trailing down her neck sent a shiver flashing along the redhead's spine. Something had changed since New York. He was more willing to touch her, not just punch, bump shoulders, and generally be a pain in her ass. Training and inclination warred in her mind as to how to react to this. She blinked and refocused.

He picked up his sunglasses and hauled himself up off the ground, dusting off his legs and tugging off his jacket to shake the sand from it. The sun was completely set now and he gazed back at the glittering lights of the boardwalk. "Well I haven't been here for years but hardly anything has changed, so hopefully that means the Whitecrest Inn is still up and running. It's off the main square in town. It's nice, Barney and I broke into it a couple times... Hopefully they won't recognize me." Clint turned back to face his partner, a shit-eating grin breaking across his face as he recalled the trouble he and his brother got into in this little town.

He behaved so much like, well, Barton that her smile came through again. Of course he had been a pain in the neck here. It was Clint. He was a pest, especially when he wasn't supposed to getting into places he shouldn't. Including, she thought wryly, the broken down abandoned corners of a Russian super assassin's heart.  When he looked inquisitively at the change in her expression, she schooled her features again, indicating he should lead the way.

The pair of assassins walked back up the beach to their car. She trailed him, relying on his superior night vision to help keep her bare feet from any obvious dangers. Her own ability to see in the dark was just fine, but the moniker "ass-vengers" (what will the internet come up with next?) was especially appropriate for her partner.

What _was_ in that dinner they had??

Clint drove into the center of the town and sure enough, the inn was waiting for them complete with cheerful flower boxes on the porch and a soft inviting glow coming from the windows. The archer cast a sidelong glance at his partner as they got out of the car. He hefted their duffle bags out of the back and chuckled at the way his partner's delicate nose was wrinkled up as she appraised the establishment.

The Whitecrest Inn was everything she had come to expect in this quaint seaside town. Whitewashed, gingerbreading on the peaks of the roof and over the windows, flower boxes with a riot of different coloured mums and daisies - quaint and lovely and wholly not suited for anyone sane

"Oh come on Nat, forgive the place for being cute. It can't help how provincial it is." He tossed his head at her as he walked by her and up the steps, opening the door and letting the redhead precede him inside.

She followed her partner to the door and walked through, dropping into character as she did, laughing & touching his face for "being a dear and holding the door like an old fashioned gentleman." His eyes widened for a second, and then the easy grin of recognition spread across his face. After their little heart-to-heart on the beach, it took a second for him to interpret the redhead's overtly affectionate manner as her stand-by defense mechanism for coping with the unknown. He slipped into his role just as easily, though at least for him it wasn't much of an act. His warm smile at his partner was genuine, and he was not at all disappointed at the chance to let his hand rest on the small of her back in a gesture of familiarity even if it was just for show.

A tall older woman stood behind the counter. Her steel grey hair framed her face, softened by smiling green eyes and a good smile. She watched the couple walk in through the door. "Can I help you folks?"

The archer cleared his throat and flashed the woman working the desk a toothy grin. "Yeah, we'd like a room for the weekend please." He requested congenially. The friendly older woman opened the ledger for him then glanced back up at the pair.

"I'm afraid the only thing I have available is the honeymoon suite, will that be all right?" She asked with a knowing smile at the young couple. Clint felt Natasha's side jump a little under his hand, knowing that she was holding in a laugh and he glanced down at her, pulling her a little closer.

The archer's hand was broad, warm & far too familiar on the small of her back. Some things should not feel that comfortable. His side was warm, despite their evening walk, and the scent of leather, sea and clean male was strong and distracting.

"Nothing wrong with a second honeymoon, right baby?" He asked with a cheeky grin. He could see in her face that she wanted to hit him for being a brat and playing up the lovebird act, which only encouraged him to continue. He signed them in as James and Natalie Rushman and the woman led them upstairs.

Clint whistled at the cozy country style sitting room with open double doors leading to the master bedroom, mentally cataloging all the places he would make the little redhead scream his name if this suite really was going to be used for its intended purpose. He thanked their hostess, taking the room key from her at the door.

His low whistle as they entered the room caught Natasha’s attention. The redhead watched his face as he gazed around the room, seemingly checking off some kind of mental list before taking the key from their hostess. She glanced around the room, mentally confirming the windows locked, there was only one entrance to their room and as they were on the third floor, there was no clear line of sight from the outside to the room. She wasn't sure what he was checking. Perhaps it was something to discuss once they were alone.

"Breakfast is at 7:30 am and we also serve brunch at 9:30, if you think you two can manage to be out of bed by then." The older woman winked at the pair and Clint's eyes widened when he saw Natasha react to the woman's little joke. The redhead could blush on command when needed, but that only tinged the apples of her cheeks. He knew her well enough to know this blush was genuine, because the tips of her ears and forehead flushed a little as well.

Natasha must have been really lost in her thoughts because she immediately flashed on why they would have problems getting out of bed. The image of her partner, flushed, sweating and bucking beneath her as she rode him swam across her vision and she blinked twice, rapidly. She fought any other reaction, hoping her partner would attribute it to her character and not to any inappropriate thoughts she might have.

Clint laughed a little and thanked the woman again, turning to face his partner. "Looks like there's a bottle of complimentary wine on the counter there, if you like. Might as well not let it go to waste." He shrugged his shoulder at the kitchenette off the side of the sitting area. He set his bag by the couch and carried Natasha's back and set it on the bed, they had shared a bed on missions before but after everything that had happened over the past 72 hours he honestly didn't think he could handle that tonight.

The suggestion of a glass of wine was welcome. "I could go for a glass. It's not vodka, but I suspect I'm not going to find that in such a ... quaint ... place."

Clint hid his amusement at his partner's fluster by busying himself opening up the wine and pouring a glass for her and himself. He wandered back over to the couch and handed off her drink. Natasha had curled up on the couch, pushing his bag onto the floor and bit her lip. She watched him dig a corkscrew out of one of the drawers and his arms flex as he carefully worked the cork out of the narrow neck of the wine bottle.

He poured the wine into two glasses and walked back to her. She kept her voice professionally level as she said, "We might as well sleep together, Barton. That woman will know if you sleep on the couch. Not on a mission, but there's no point in being sloppy." She took her glass from him and wandered over to a window, to stare out into the night.

Her suggestion was like a punch to the gut. He wanted desperately to share a bed with her, not just because he was a male with a pulse and eyes that worked but because he simply wanted to be close to her, to have that intimacy with her and have it reciprocated... But like the elite agent she was, she was only thinking of maintaining their cover to a tee.

He watched her wander over to the window, taking a drink and wishing that the sweet wine was stiff scotch. His impulse was to go stand behind her and wrap his arms around her small frame, brush her curls off her neck and taste her skin... He mentally berated himself. Come on Barton, you're not a punk kid that can only think with his dick. Show some fucking self-control. "If you say so, Natalie." He chuckled, downing his glass and wandering through the bedroom to the bathroom, depositing his duffle bag on the floor by the bed on the way.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So - they're in the hotel now. And kind of awkward...

Natasha stood at the window for a minute, giving herself a chance to reassert her control over her reactions. Whatever had happened, something had changed between them since she found him on the helicarrier and had to fight him, beat him senseless and then start the steady uphill climb of reclaiming her partner. Opening herself to the need she had for the sandy haired archer in her life - not sticking with the mission she had been on in Russia - had opened - what was the phrase Barton used? a jar of worms? Love may be for children, but he had always been childlike and she found herself becoming more so as time wore on. She had to keep reminding herself of her training to keep from making a complete fool of herself.

What she wouldn't give for a good bottle of cold, clean, Russian vodka right now. She could sit him down at that kitchenette, match him shot for shot and when he was too drunk to stand, take him to bed and watch him sleep and get this infatuation over with.

Her plan to sleep in the bed together. It made sense. It kept them in practice of maintaining a cover. It kept them from becoming sloppy. That the bed was just large enough for two had nothing to do with it.

Clint appraised his face in the mirror, more to stare himself down than anything and remind himself again that he was just as capable of sleeping next to his partner tonight as any other time. It didn't matter that they had almost lost each other. It didn't matter that she had pulled him back from the edge of a fate worse than death. It didn't matter that he had basically just bared his soul to her on the beach a couple hours ago.

He went back and retrieved his toiletry kit, setting it on the sink and turning on the faucet. He stripped off his red t-shirt and lathered up his face, then started shaving off the couple days of scruff he had accumulated while being a mindless drone under Loki's control.

Nodding firmly, Natasha grabbed her toiletry kit out of her bag and padded towards the bathroom herself. Through the open door, she caught site of the archer. He had lost his shirt and was lathering up the scruff she had almost decided she liked. She knew his physique almost as well as she knew her own. For all that she was able to use her voluptuous looks to bring down the bad guys; Barton's hard muscled torso was a tool SHIELD had used once in a while as well. As a specimen of masculine beauty, he was no slouch. A small smile hit her face as she watched him pick up the razor.

"Barton, let me," she said as she plucked the razor from his hands. "With the episodes you're having, there's no point in you having a blade to your own throat. I'm your partner. I can do this."

Clint felt rather than heard Natasha join him in the bathroom with how silently she moved out of habit. He met her eyes in the mirror then started to put his razor to use, but she stopped him. "Nat you don't have to-" He started to protest, but she just started her self-appointed task without so much as batting an eyelash at his resistance so he didn't even bother finishing his sentence. He wasn't going to argue with the Black Widow when she had a razor blade pressed against his throat.

The razor in one hand, the other braced against Clint's chest, Natasha made quick work of the job. She made note to pick up a new razor for him in the morning. This one was well and truly past its prime. She'd chastise him for it, but she knew this was a bad habit he picked up from his days as a carnie when money for luxuries like razor blades was tight.

He took a half step back so she could reach the sink more easily to rinse out the razor as she worked. He moved his head and stretched his neck at intervals so she could get everything, he didn't have much scruff so it was fairly quick work. His silver eyes tracked the tiny movements of her face, her delicate brow slightly furrowed as she concentrated on her task. Clint breathed in the sweet smell of her hair and forced himself not to clench his hands into fists at his sides and give away the fact that he was having difficulty not reaching out and touching her.

She concentrated on shaving him carefully but she had enough awareness left over to watch his reactions. Her eyes narrowed as she watched his hands twitch. Interesting — from the way he was acting, he either wanted to grab something (likely the razor - he could be ridiculous like that) or to push her away. She blinked, filing the information away for later.

He winced a little when on the last pass the razor caught the edge of his jaw. It wasn't due to carelessness on Natasha's part, Clint used his razors until long after they were due to be tossed and this one was fairly dull. He smirked as he touched his jaw and saw a tiny bit of blood on his fingertip. She looked apologetic and he didn't want her to feel bad, so he chuckled and said, "What, aren't you gonna kiss it better?"

Her eyebrow arched high into her forehead as she rolled her eyes. "Really, Barton? What are you, six?" She quietly laughed, "Very well."

She pushed him seated on the toilet and bent over to lean in and examine his jaw. Other than a small nick, he would be fine. She brushed the little line of blood that had formed away, breathing in the scent of him, his shaving foam and that slight metallic scent that was always blood. With a soft sigh, she kissed his jaw, cupping the other side of it to help balance her as she did.

After placing the soft kiss at his jawline, she stood, smiled softly for him, saying, "There. All better now?"

Clint's eyes widened at her response, all higher brain function shutting off momentarily as she sat him down and cupped his face, pressing her soft warm lips to his skin. Every muscle in his body tensed at the contact, and he was damn lucky she turned and walked away without waiting for a response because there was no way he would've been able to speak properly in that moment.

She turned and headed for the bed, peeling out of her jacket and tossing her black tank top on a nearby chair before grabbing her bag and digging for her nightshirt, a tattered old AC/DC concert shirt.

He took a deep, ragged breath and stood up, splashing cold water on his face to rinse the traces of shaving cream off his neck and ears, realizing that afforded him a perfect view in the mirror of his partner as she stripped her top off and rummaged through her bag. He gripped the sides of the sink, devouring every inch of her exposed creamy skin with his eyes, the mark she had left on his neck still burning.

She turned unexpectedly and their eyes met in the glass, and his heart clenched. She had essentially just caught him eye-fucking her and now all that talk about trust and being a team earlier was likely about to go out the window. God dammit, he had been so careful all these years, and now apparently after having his brain scrambled he had lost the ability to employ some damn subtlety. Natasha stood staring back at him.

He turned and shook his head, quickly averting his gaze to the floor and holding up his hand in a placating gesture. "Nat, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." He fumbled out an apology as best he could, stepping forward and reaching out to close the bathroom door between them to afford his partner and his own humiliation some privacy.

She took a step towards him, nightshirt dangling from her fingers, all but forgotten. Her hand shot out, stopping it in place. "Clint. Didn't mean what?" She stepped closer to him, her brow furrowed as she tried to read the lighting changes of expression on his face. He had been looking at her with desire, a surprise from Barton, but not something unusual or unwelcome in his case. It had flashed to fear, shame, and many of the darker emotions that he had been fighting even a few hours ago.

It could only mean one thing. The leftovers of whatever Loki had done to her archer had struck again. She pushed aside her attraction for the man in front of her and focused on the best friend and agent that she had promised to protect.

She reached out and caught his chin, drawing his face to look her in the eye, "Didn't mean what? This is part of that partner thing we were talking about Barton. If there's something going on in your head, especially if it's something you weren't aware you were doing, I need to know. Was there any pain this time?"

Clint resisted the urge to laugh out of surprise and frustration at her words, she really had absolutely no clue what she did to him. And now she was standing there in only her lacy black bra and skinny jeans, gripping his chin and leaning up into his space.

Maybe it was how bad it had scared him knowing he had tried to kill her. Maybe it was being able to open up to her about his fears. But for whatever reason, something inside the archer snapped then. "Dammit Tasha, the only thing that hurts right now is how much I fucking want you. How much I've always wanted you..." He growled, gripping her neck and tugging her up against him, his other hand pressing into the small of her back as he captured her full lips in a searing, hungry kiss.

Everything around her was her partner. His strong chest pressed her breasts flat. His ropey muscled arms kept her close. His rough hands tangled into the hair at the back of her neck and searing into the skin at the base of her spine. His scent filled her nose. His lips demanded response to his kiss.

It was stupid, and the rational corner of his mind was screaming at him that he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life, but when their lips met he didn't care. Her taste, her scent, the feel of her skin pressed against his was the closest to heaven he was ever going to get.

He broke the kiss after a moment and they shared a ragged breath, his silver eyes darted between hers and he waited on the edge of a knife, waiting for her to curse him out, slap him, something.

He looked into her eyes and she finally realised that pained look from earlier - hell, the looks from dinner and the beach and when she scanned her memory back, for a very long time now - it was this look. This hungry, scared look that wanted so very much and expected so very little.

She had two choices and she made her choice in the time it took to blink once. She could push away. Tell him he misunderstood and this was likely more of whatever Loki had done. Remind him of SHIELD regulations regarding fraternization. Use her not-inconsiderable skills to convince him that he did not want her, not really.

And in the time it took to blink, she considered all that. She knew she could keep their partnership if she chose that option. Barton would accept her logic and they would go back to the status quo.

The status quo got her partner abducted by a god and she barely got him back. The status quo had her picking up the pieces of his shattered heart and healing him while pretending to not give a damn.

_Love is for children, Natasha._

Then I am a child.

She crashed into him, arms flying around his neck and jumping to lock her legs around his waist, kissing him as hard as she could.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We start earning that rating now.

Clint grunted a little into her mouth as she jumped up and wrapped herself around him, shuffling his feet slightly to keep his balance as she kissed him wildly. His hands swept down to hook under her legs and he turned their bodies so her back was pinned against the door frame. His heart was pounding and he would have laughed with sheer joy and relief if he wasn't so distracted with trying to keep pace with her as their tongues slid together and battled for dominance.

She nipped at his lip and he growled in response, pressing her harder between him and the door frame, rocking his hips into hers involuntarily. He pulled his head back, panting roughly and searching her flushed face, a mixture of wonder and disbelief in his eyes. He raised his eyebrows at her, cocking his head slightly to silently confirm for certain that this was all right and what she wanted. She could hardly draw an even breath herself and simply nodded at him, and instantly he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, kissing and biting her creamy skin like he had imagined doing earlier.

He kissed a trail down her throat and nipped at her collar bone, grinding his growing arousal against her center and hissing against her skin as her nails bit into his shoulders. He readjusted his grip on her and pulled away from the wall, carrying her to the little full-size bed and sitting down on the edge of it with her in his lap. Their lips clashed together again and his callused fingers slid up her bare spine to unclasp her bra. She leaned back enough to let him tug the garment off and his gaze raked over her bare front.

"God Nat you're so beautiful..." He murmured, craning his head down to kiss a trail between her breasts then wander over to latch on to one rosy peak, teasing it to a stiff point with his tongue and teeth while his finger and thumb did the same to its twin.

The feel of his mouth and hands on her curved her spine into an arc. He worshiped at her breasts; drawing gasps and moans from her as she ground down on his arousal. The calluses on his fingertips drew sparks from her body as he caressed her that ran up her spine and down to deep in the pit of her body.

Needing to kiss him again, she plucked his face from her breast, drawing it up to her lips. Her tongue snaked out, licking the seam of his mouth, pleading for entry. She shifted her weight and pushed him backwards onto the floral coverlet, now crouched above him, hips still firmly canted into his.

The burn of his skin against hers wiped clear much of her conscious thought. What little remained berated her for it taking almost losing him forever to choose to do this. No more delays, no more stupid risk taking. Her hand snaked down between them to take a hold of his belt.

She lifted her head from his, blue eyes blown wide staring into silver ones so dark, and whispered, "May I?" Her teeth bit down on her bottom lip, a small smirk showing. She did not want to take advantage of her partner but the bulge pushing against her center told her that she was probably not in this alone.

A breathy bark of laughter escaped Clint's lips at her 'request' and he craned his head up to kiss her lips once before resting his head back on the bed. "I thought you'd never ask." He said with a sly grin, a note of poignant truth ringing in his playful response. No matter how much he wanted his partner, he had been perfectly willing to carry that particular torch in silence forever.

True, the past few days and her unwitting testing tonight had pushed him past his breaking point, but if she had refused him, he would have shelved his feelings and gone right back to how they were before if it meant not losing her entirely. The fact that she had not only accepted his affection but seemed to be reciprocating it rather enthusiastically was probably the most incredible gift he had ever been given.

Her fingers worked at unlatching his belt and unfastening his jeans and Clint growled in his throat as her hand explored him, stroking him from base to tip as if she was taking stock of him. He chuckled a little again, raising his eyebrow at her as she met his gaze again. "I think you'll find everything to be in working order there, Missy," he teased.

She stared into Barton's eyes, watching for the dilation of his pupils, the intake of breath and the little twitches of his face that told her what to do with her hands and what he liked and what he would soon turn into a panting wreck. She chewed on her lower lip, internally chastising herself for using her training on him but rationalizing it that if she was only there to give him pleasure, there was no harm in using the skills she possessed.

Raising himself up on one elbow and threading his fingers through her curls, Clint tugged her forward to seal his mouth to hers again. He let his had glide down the graceful curve of her side then between their bodies and flicked her jeans open with deft fingertips.

Clint nipped the redhead's full lower lip and tucked his hand under her panties that he noticed with a surge of satisfaction were soaked through. He lightly circled the tight bud of nerves at the top of her entrance with the callused pads of his middle and ring finger, pushing deeper inside her tight jeans and dipping the knobby digits into her tight, wet core. She trembled above him and he pumped languidly in and out of her, pressing the heel of his hand against her clit and filing away every twitch and hitch of breath as he played her like an exquisitely crafted instrument.

He grinned as she seemed to lose track of what she had been doing with his pants, moaning softly and riding his hand. The archer didn't mind in the least, insanely turned on by the sounds and expressions she was making. He increased his pace, wishing he had tugged her jeans off before he started to make this easier but not wanting her pleasure to lose its momentum so he increased his pace, stroking her walls and craning his head up to nip and suck at her neck as he worked her.

"Barton - " she gasped, lost in the sensations he dragged out of her. Her voice picked up a pleading whine as he sped up, "Clint, please." Natasha writhed on him, winding her legs around one of his thighs, grinding down on the solid muscle there, forcing his hand harder against her as she panted. His abs tightened as he curled up to work over her neck with his teeth and tongue.

Clint was struggling to take even breaths as Natasha quaked and moaned above him, his own pants growing painfully restrictive at her feverish demands. Her teeth worrying his ear sent jolts of electricity down his spine and he pushed up off the mattress rolling their bodies and dragging the redhead beneath him.

The redhead hissed and ground herself against him, soaking his jeans as she rode his hand. She whispered, dark and needy, "Please. Get your pants off. Before I tear them off."

He kissed her hard and fast. "Ladies first." He panted with a feral grin, standing over her and hooking his fingers into the hem of her pants, tugging them off her shapely hips and dragging her panties off along with them. He leaned down and pressed an errant kiss on the flat plane of her stomach, sorely tempted to venture lower and taste her sweetness but deciding to save that for later. He was aching to be inside her and from the look on her face as he shed his jeans and briefs he wasn't alone in that desire.

He caught her gaze, silver eyes nearly completely black with desire and returned to her. Clint climbed back on top of her, nuzzling back into her throat feeling like he belonged there. He reached down and snatched her wrists, dragging her arms up over her head and pressing them into the mattress. The redhead let him, wrapping her long legs around his hips and trapping his taut body to hers.  He ground his throbbing erection against her slick entrance, teasing them both a little before connecting their bodies. 

He raised his head up to meet her eyes, thoughts he had never intended to give voice to tumbling from his lips in heated whispers, "I've wanted this... Wanted you for so long..." He captured her lips and kissed her ravenously, finally thrusting into her tight heat and moaning into her mouth as he buried himself to the hilt.

With his whispered desperate words, he slid into her. She bowed in his arms, head pushing into the mattress, letting him drag his lips from her mouth and along the smooth column of her throat. "You've wanted this?" she panted, grunting as he set up a rhythm, pushing in and out of her. "From the first time I tried to seduce you and you turned me out..." Her voice trailed off into mewls of pleasure as the archer latched on to her collarbone with his teeth. 

She struggled for the ability to speak. Why had it taken them so long? 

Clint pulled her back out of her head again with a slow kiss, playing counterpoint to the gliding, grinding, blast furnace hot slide of him within her. Her legs tightened around his ass, pushing him with her calves & heels. "Barton - Clint - God, please." She pulled her arms hard, tugging them away from his grip and nipping at his mouth to distract him, twisted to flip the two assassins over, landing him on his back and her solidly on him, filled to the core with him. 

Her hands slid up his chest to grip his shoulders, nails digging crescent moons into the muscles. She leaned down to lick a long line from the base of his sternum up to his collarbone where she nibbled and sucked, hearing him hiss in reaction. Natasha lifted her head till she was resting her forehead on his, staring again into his wide silver eyes. "You have a mission, partner. It's not an easy one, so be prepared. Difficult opponent - one of the best, so you'll have to bring your A game." White teeth bit down on red lips as her mouth formed a smirk, "Your mission, should you choose to accept it? Make me scream."


	8. Chapter 8

He enjoyed the bite of her nails on his shoulders and hissed as her mouth marked out a searing trail up his chest and corded neck.The marksman met her fevered stare and a low chuckle made his chest vibrate as she told him of his 'mission.'

 " _Why_  did I think it was a good idea to show you those damn movies..." He grinned, craning his chin up to kiss her, tugging at her full lower lip with his teeth and letting his hands roam over her sweat dampened skin. He broke their kiss and pressed his cheek against hers so his lips brushed her ear as he murmured, "I accept. But I won't just make you scream, Nat. That's not enough. First, I'll make you purr..." His strong hands moved to knead the muscles of her lower back, eliciting the exact response he mentioned.

She relished her partner's response. His hands, rough and strong from years on the range, kneaded her lower back, forcing a rolling growl from her full lips. It felt almost better than sex itself. This was one of his skills she had felt before and she had long thought that nothing was better than a Barton Backrub. 

"Then I'll make you moan..." He continued, rocking his hips up into her slow and deep, grinning at the desperate sounds his movements were wringing from her throat. His hands left her back to grip her hips, forcing her down harder onto him with every thrust and growling roughly as she started riding him in earnest. 

When he wrapped his hands around her hips as he methodically rolled his hips up to slide himself harder and deeper into her, she had to re-evaluate. Barton Backrubs were definitely wonderful and not to be missed, but clearly, her partner had been holding out on her.

The wonderful tingling feeling that came from everywhere Clint touched her built to a large burn low in the pit of her body.  She arched back and his silver eyes stared hungrily at her full breasts as she bounced atop him, one hand gliding over her stomach and down to tease her clit, applying pressure to her most sensitive spot as she slid up and down his throbbing length. He ran through every mental exercise he had to keep from losing it as she started clamping around him, barely managing to groan, "And then I'll make you scream..."

Her body became one long tight shaft of pleasure. When her partner groaned about making her scream, everything ignited at once in a blinding white light and heat as her muscles tighten around the length of him, milking him and her hands became boneless against his legs. 

Clint had pictured this and a thousand other similar scenarios with the redhead over the years that they were partners, but even his best fantasies paled in comparison to watching Natasha come unraveled atop him, a string of sweet nothings, Russian, English and a few other languages that Clint wasn't positive of, fell from her lips as she came. His whole body tensed and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from exploding as her most feminine muscles flexed and fluttered around him in her ecstasy, wanting so desperately to fall over the edge but wanting to make her come like that again before he did even more.

She leaned back down over him and his eyes widened with astonishment, his stomach doing a little flip at the vibrant and affectionate smile she was beaming at him. He could make Natasha Romanov smile like that? He actually managed to forget the fact that he was riding the edge of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain for an instant.

She quickly brought him back to full awareness of it however, kissing and nipping his lips while sliding languidly along his thick, throbbing length.  Her smile burned brighter as she nipped his lips and said, "I think it's your turn to purr now, partner...”

He sighed with want beneath her, gripping the graceful hollows of her sides and angling her hips so he could hit her in the right places, thrusting up into her and grinning at her comment.  "Is that so? Well nothing feels better than you coming on me Nat, so I guess we'll have to do something about that." He panted, hoping he could back up his words and make her come again before he lost it.  _Kittens, Barton. Think about kittens. Or that time you had to run six blocks from a group of Bosnian mercenaries with a shard of glass in your boot._  He forced his breathing to regulate somewhat, kissing her slow and deep when she met his lips again.

Kissing her partner was incredible. With nothing more than a pair of lips, teeth and his tongue, Natasha was reasonably sure that he would be able to bring her to a shuddering mess any time he wanted now. A moment of wry humour struck her internally as she begged Future Clint to show good sense and not do that on mission. She was sure he wouldn't, but this was the archer who had been a carnie who was a kid who loved to pull pranks. Hawkeye wouldn't. Barton might. Clint would in a New York minute.

She lifted her head from his kiss, that smile whispering around the edges of her lips. "Nothing? Are you completely sure about that, Barton?"  Clint was smiling devilishly at her until her whispered words made his eyebrows quirk questioningly. "Natasha..." He drawled, failing to keep the note of disappointment out of his voice as she slid off of his length. "Patience, partner. Just close your eyes and trust me." He blinked at her when she instructed him to close his eyes, but knowing she wouldn't budge he complied with a playful roll of his eyes.

He kept his eyes shut but felt her migrate down his body, and his muscles twitched a little when he felt her warm breath on his straining length. Clint wanted to watch her take him in her mouth but for one thing she had told him to close his eyes, and for another if he watched her pleasuring him the show would be over embarrassingly quick with how riled up he already was.

Looking up at her partner, her mouth watered. He wasn't a gym rat's idea of perfection, but instead the body of a man who worked with his every day. No six pack abs, his were taut and muscled like a sculptor had softened every edge. His biceps and forearms were tanned, large and covered in veins standing out from the pounding of his heart. His chin could cut glass and even with his eyes shut, she could picture their silver stare - intense, laughing, angry, capable of holding any colour, depending on the light that hit them.

Her partner. The man who had not only did not kill her (she refused to think of it as saving her, though many referred to it as that - she was not a damsel in distress), who had her back so many times in so many missions that it had become more than second nature - it was that part of her awareness that lived within another skin. He had played with her, laughed with her, fought with her and let her drag him, kicking and biting, back from the edge where she almost lost him forever to a bitch-god from another world. To say nothing of what he had just done to her body and mind. Her heart cracked a little, unused to the depth of feeling she had for him. 

He felt her hand on his thigh tighten a little. Had he made her feel pressured into this somehow? He didn't want her doing anything she didn't want to do. His brow furrowed and he reached down tangle his long fingers into her hair, catching her gaze and starting to sit up. He questioned her softly, fighting to push down his desire and switching his focus to the redhead staring back at him with those bottomless blue eyes.

His hand reached out for her hair, eyes still closed. "Tasha? You okay?" His fingers tangled in her red curls, cupping her head as he started to curve upwards. Her hand on his chest halted his progress and he started to protest again after she answered that she was fine. "Really it's okay, you don't have to..." Clint's voice trailed off and his abdominal muscles jumped as his partner abruptly swallowed him down, her tongue playing havoc on his restraint. His fingers tightened in her fiery curls as he forced himself not to thrust up to meet her motions.

"Jesus, Nat..." He growled, his head lolling back against the mattress as she sucked him hard, her head bobbing up and down in a rhythm that matched his racing heart. His breathing quickly grew shallow and ragged and the pleasure rose in the pit of his stomach. She hummed around him and the vibration made his vision blur around the edges. "Fuck, I'm gonna come... Tasha!" He murmured her name like a prayer as he came, feeling her swallow his hot seed wringing another growl of pleasure from his lips.

The best part of blowing her partner's mind was listening to him lose it. The whimpers, the moans, the hisses as he fought his desire to thrust into her were like candy - sweet, forbidden and utterly amazing. She slid off him with a wet popping sound and he tipped his head up to look down at her, an airy chuckle escaping him as he watched her lick her plump lips. Damn, it had been worth waiting for her. Clint hooked his hands under her arms and hauled her petite frame back up till she was sprawled atop him, their noses brushing together and their breath mingled.

She was happier than she thought she had any right to be. Feeling smug that she had been able to give Clint the kind of pleasure he deserved and eager to continue to explore this new aspect of their partnership. Recognizing there would be issues with SHIELD. They were both well adept at hiding things and she was the best in the world at it. They would have to find a way to cope.

His silver eyes searched her face and he could tell something was still weighing on her despite the satisfied almost feline grin she was giving him. Barton knew her too well.  "Tell me." He murmured simply. She knew she couldn't hide much from him, and he wanted her to feel safe. When she hesitated, unsure of how to broach what she was thinking, he tipped his chin up to kiss her deeply, feeling her toes curl on the mussed covers between his legs. Natasha felt her brain fall apart again as heat once again pooled low in her body.  "Tell me, Tasha." He reiterated gently after breaking their kiss and her mouth started moving without benefit of her cautious brain, her words came in a rush.

"It’s childish. I shouldn't love you but I think I do. I know that I love what just happened. I know I trust you with my life. I don't know how this is ever going to happen again but I know that if it doesn't -"

Clint lightly stroked the soft skin of her back as she spoke, words tumbling out of her mouth in an uncontrolled rush of emotion. He kept the shock out of his eyes lest she misinterpret it negatively, but he was honestly floored by her admission. It was probably the least eloquent he'd ever heard her be, but at the same time absolutely the most genuine. In her own uncharacteristically awkward way she had just admitted to loving him. Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow, his partner and the most exquisite woman he had ever known, loved him? His brain blew a circuit.  It was devastatingly adorable to Clint seeing her so flustered, and he couldn't suppress the corner of his mouth tugging up into a crooked grin.

Her mouth shut tight as she blushed, eyes wide and ears tinged with shame at how much she had babbled. One damned kiss. One damned kiss and she started talking like she was a rank amateur and not one of the world's finest spies. Was this what she was going to be like? Had sex with Barton managed to not only break her in pieces metaphorically but was it going to prevent her from being able to do her job? 

This was Barton. She knew he wasn't celibate. Here she was declaring love, of all the foolish stupid things to do and all that had happened was some fun sweaty exercise for him.

She blinked rapidly, putting herself back in order quickly. She smiled softly at him, "Barton, just...never mind. I was just rambling. Shall we go for round 2 or do you want to sleep?" She lifted her head enough to see the small bedside table clock. "It's eleven. I'm not tired but if you are, I'll grab a shower and let you rest."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh hell no, he was not letting her get away with that.

His gut clenched as she retreated back behind her mask, backpedaling away from the raw emotion she had tapped into quicker than he could blink. Oh hell no, he was not letting her get away with that. He had been treading water with his emotions towards her for years, perfectly content to neither sink nor swim because he was afraid of losing his partner and best friend. Now that he _knew_ she felt the same way about him...

"Natasha. Look at me." He murmured his voice soft but his gaze intense when she met his eyes again. Barton stopped her retreat with a hand cupping her face. He swallowed hard; a tell that he was going to do something that he would rather not. He would tell her that he knew how to keep himself from needing others. Biting her lip, the little redhead wished she could bash him in the head again, a vain hope that he would forget this evening had ever happened.  His callused thumb caressed the apple of her cheek. "Don't run from me now. God, please don't..." His silver eyes darted between her blue orbs and he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "I taught myself a long time ago not to need anyone... Everyone I've ever loved has either used me or tried to kill me or both. But after I found you, after everything we've been through together, I can't help myself. I _need_ you, Nat." His voice dwindled down to a whisper and he pressed his forehead up to hers.

"I love you." 

Natasha blinked. Once – twice - about fifteen times, all told, in rapid succession. She looked deeply into his eyes, seeing truth there. She backed her head from his and searched his face again; using every skill she had as an interrogator. Looking for the pity, for the lie, for the sign that would make her understand that this was something he was doing for her - his mistaken belief that having her back would involve covering for her run-away mouth by claiming to love her.

There was nothing there that wasn't just Barton and a clear ring of truth. She blinked again, a small smile whispering around the edge of her lips.

"Really? You _love_ me." When he nodded, she cocked her head to one side and whispered, " _Why_? You - better than anyone - know what I am. You love me?"

The redhead looked down between them, brows furrowed as she tried to find her place in this new and bizarre world. Clint's arms tightened around her, anchored her to him and what to do next became less terrifying.

He was her partner. The man she relied on to have the exit strategy when she was ass deep in crocodiles. She could rely on him to tell her what she needed to do to get clear and all she had to do was tell him she needed that help. 

Clint watched her absorb his words, watching her struggle to believe he could love her play out in her lovely eyes. He simply waited; ever patient, understanding that Natasha was very much a woman that had to see things for herself to believe them. She searched his face with that soul-piercing gaze but he was unafraid, knowing all she would find was the validation she needed that he was being honest with her.

He nodded when she ran over his words again, a smile warming his silver eyes. "Why?" He shook his head slightly, his grin widening. "You're right, I know your past and I know who you are, and that street goes both ways. But we're more than just the sum of our demons, Natasha... I love you and I want all of you, light and dark." The marksman wrapped his corded arms more securely around the petite woman stretched out on top of him, waiting for her to digest his words and smiling at her when she finally met his gaze again.

She looked back up at the archer, her hand going up to touch his face and run into his sandy, sweaty, messed up hair. "Barton? Kiss me?" Her hand carded through his hair and his heartbeat quickened at her request that he was only too happy to oblige. He tried to keep the kiss soft and sweet, but her taste and scent and the feel of her bare skin pressed to his was intoxicating and it only took a few seconds before he was tugging at her full lips with his teeth and sweeping his tongue into her mouth, demanding further entrance. 

Barton's kiss rolled over her, warming her, pinpricks tickling down her spine. Parting her mouth for his insistent tongue, she drove her fingers into his hair, angling him to let her best attack his mouth. 

"Barton, please kiss - " she stopped speaking  and a feverish moan escaped her lips as he broke away from her mouth to suck and nip at her pale throat just beneath her ear. His arousal grew against her abdomen and he growled deep in his chest as she began grinding herself along his length, the delicious friction making him hard as steel for her in no time flat. Clint captured her lips again and groaned into her mouth as she grew wet with desire, her slickness making her slide more easily against him.

He nipped at her lip and hooked one large hand under her thigh, flipping their bodies and grinning devilishly as he teased her clit with his erection. "I'm glad you're not tired beautiful, because first I'm going to fuck you on this bed, then we're gonna go get in the shower and I'm going to make you come on my tongue. Tomorrow we're gonna work our way out of the bedroom and I'm going to make you scream on every horizontal and vertical surface in this suite." He punctuated every few words with a heated kiss, all the while sliding his hardness along her slick entrance.

" _Every_  horizontal surface, Clint? What? You've figured out how we're having sex on the ceiling now?" she teased, body shivering as she read his expression of just how serious he was. She was no blushing virgin but she felt precious, desired and wholly unlike anything she had ever known before. If her partner wanted to spend the entire weekend pounding her like there was no tomorrow, she could get behind that mission. She giggled briefly at the choice of words. Shying away from the idea of having their handler telling them what to do, she bit her lip to keep from laughing, knowing that the next time they were on mission, the chatter on the comms was going to be much more dangerous.

Her legs locked around his hips and he hissed as her nails raked down his back, the edge of pain making his pleasure more intense. The archer watched completely engrossed in the sounds his partner was making and the way her face was contorting with pleasure as he moved inside her.

He felt her quiver against his muscled frame at his words, watching the heat rise in her cheeks and her eyes darken with want as he thrust into her hot, tight sheath. Clint smirked against her skin at her crack about the ceiling, taking her in earnest and finding a particular angle she liked and increasing his pace.  Clint rolled his hips up into hers, nuzzling his brow into the crook of her neck. God, she loved what he could do with that unholy clever mouth. "God, you feel amazing..." he slurred, his own breathing getting ragged as he pounded into her, tipping his head up to bite and lick at her sensitive collarbone.

"You're not so bad yourself, Barton," the redhead gasped, hitches to her voice tripping it from its usual smooth timbre. She groaned as he shifted position slightly, his hips twisting as he pumped within her, setting up a delicious grind against her clit. "Jesus, Barton...that...that. Please keep doing that..." her voice trailed off to a series of moans and gasps as the archer did his best to take his partner apart with his body.

Natasha closed her eyes, the better to focus on the sensations he was creating in her, riding waves of white heat and dark desires. She ran her nailed sharply down his back, following the curves and valleys of the hard muscles of his shoulders, sides and reaching for that glorious ass. Images of missions and teams and enemies and tomorrow and anything that wasn't this precise moment - anything that wasn't Clint and what they were doing - fled her mind as she came apart beneath him, crying out his name, tears falling from her closed eyelids, body arching into him as her arms & legs pinned him to her.

Her walls clenched and fluttered around him as she found her peak and a ragged cry escaped Clint's lips as he came deep inside her. He wasn't worried, Natasha had told him long ago about all the lasting ways being part of the Room had marked her, including taking away her ability to have children. He rolled his hips up into her until he was utterly spent, drawing out her orgasm for as long as he could.

Clint returned to himself in the wake of his pleasure and noticed the tear tracks down the spy's temples into her fiery curls and he smiled softly, cupping her face and gently brushing his lips against hers as her muscles slackened around him. "Tasha..." He whispered her name, kissing her with tenderness and wiping away the moisture from the corners of her eyes. He held her for another moment, placing errant gentle kisses on her lips, cheek, jaw and neck, touching her softly in all the ways he had wanted to for so long. He didn't believe in God but finally having her in his arms like this was like getting an answer to a prayer, and he wanted to savor every second.

As she slowly came back to her senses, she felt him kissing her and again she felt that incredible disconnect between her calm, rational mind and this helpless mewling mess he made of her. Not even a minute after having a bone melting orgasm; his delicate touches were starting to arouse her again. At this rate, she thought, she'll stop having sex with him when the friction causes bleeding. She giggled to herself ( _giggle?_ , she thought, mildly horrified at the depths of depravity Barton had dragged her) - blood wasn't a stranger to either of them and it was entirely possible that anything shy of a gun to their heads wouldn't stop them.

Finally he slid out of her and rolled onto his back beside her on the bed, stretching and grinning like an idiot at how good it felt to be here like this with her. Most of the time after he slept with a woman, he couldn't get up, dressed and gone fast enough, never wanting to leave a false impression that he was after anything other than fulfilling that physical need.

With Natasha, it was completely different, and he was happy for that difference. He sat up and craned his head back to look at her, winking at the redhead and holding out his hand to her. He wanted to make good on what he'd said to her earlier about the shower.

Barton grinned like he'd just caught a bird. Her giggle was back as she realised it was her that had caught the bird. Hawkeye would never forgive her for using that expression - it would have to hit rotation soon. "You look pleased with yourself," she murmured, caressing his chest and drawing her hand up to stroke his clean shaven face & go up into his hair to stroke & scratch there. He purred a little, nuzzling her hand. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shower time! (Yeah, still NSFW, but there are no regrets...)

"I believe I have a promise to make good on. Coming?" he winked at her and held out his hand. She rolled her eyes and with a boneless glide, rose to her feet next to him. She lifted herself on her toes and gave him a small kiss before lifting her arms around his shoulders and hopping up to twine her legs around his hips. She brought her lips even with his ear, her voice low and husky, "Not just yet, but hopefully, I will be soon."

Clint stood and tugged her close, a crooked grin stretching over his face and lighting up his silver eyes as she hopped up and wrapped herself around his strong frame. He gripped her firmly and craned his head to capture her lips, plundering her mouth with his tongue and grunting a little into her mouth as she flexed around him in response.

"Oh don't you worry, I'll be seeing to that personally." He said with a dry, playful chuckle. He carried her into the bathroom and let his hands slide up her thighs and along her graceful curves as she eased herself back onto the floor. The archer started the water running in the shower, testing it with his hand and getting it to just the right temperature that he knew she preferred after sharing living space with her on multiple missions over the years.

He pulled her into the shower with him, sighing as the water streamed over his broad shoulders and craning his head back to let it spray over his hair. He swiped away the excess water from his hair leaving it mussed and spiked and turned their bodies so his partner could douse herself in the water as well. Clint bent and nabbed a bottle of fresh smelling shampoo and squeezed a dollop in his palm. He admired the view as he waited for Natasha to completely soak herself down, then without preamble he lathered up her hair and gave her a scalp massage that slowly turned into a neck and shoulder rub as the suds slipped down from her hair over her wet skin.

Standing with the spray hitting her torso and her partner's long fingers massaging her scalp while he washed her tangled locks was possibly the best feeling in the world right now. It calmed her, centered and grounded her. As he moved his hands down to her shoulders, her eyes slid shut, arms shooting out to catch against the shower wall. This, well, minus the whole naked in the shower together thing, was well traveled territory and Barton had skills in his hands that could reduce her to a sleepy mass of boneless purring. 

That was incredible, but not her plan for the evening, nor his, if stated intent was accurate. Still, she thought, turnabout is fair play, or so he kept telling her. She lifted her arms off the wall, placing them on his hands to still them. "Turn around, Barton," she said, just over the drone of the water. 

He spun and she lay her hands over the small of his back, just above the swell of his pert ass and ran them up his erector spinae, feeling the tension and grazing the healing wounds from his crash through the glass. With a small eyeroll at his ability to damage himself in unique ways, she began again at the bottom, thumbs circling as she dug into the knotted muscle, finding each tight area and slowly working it into submission, telling him to brace himself and using her elbows occasionally to work on particularly stubborn spots. 

Once he was suitably loose again, she picked up the shampoo and reached up, pressing her chest to his back to get a good reach, and began washing his hair, fingers gently scraping along his scalp, keeping the soap from running into his eyes and gently tugging on his short hair to get the blood flowing again. 

She relished all of this. Warm, safe, happy, she brought her ear to his mouth, hands in his hair, pressed against him. "I really do love you. That's what I meant when I said I had been compromised. I couldn't let that bastard have you," whispering in his ear something his heart had wanted to believe all along but his mind had not allowed until now.

He craned his head back to look at her, smiling affectionately at his partner. "That's what I wanted it to mean, but I didn't think you'd ever want-" Clint shook his head, chuckling lightly. He had wanted Natasha for so long; it still struck him deep that she actually wanted him too. He turned and cupped her face, pressing their mouths together and sliding his tongue intimately against hers. "I love you Tasha," his whisper barely audible above the hiss of the spraying water. He loved how it felt to speak those words to her, it was liberating in a way after holding them back for so long. He would never get tired of saying them.

The archer gripped her shoulders and pressed her back against the shower wall, trailing his lips down her wet porcelain skin, humming in his throat as her nails scratched up his corded arms. He kissed and licked his way down to her full breasts, teasing each rosy peak to a rigid point with his teeth and then placing hungry open-mouthed kisses down the flat plane of her stomach as he eased his way down to his knees before her.

Clint looked up and met his lover's blue gaze that was getting progressively darker with want, flashing a wolfish grin at her as he nipped at her hip bone then laved his tongue over the spot to soothe it. He drank in her scent and brushed his fingertips up the inside of her thigh, hooking his hand into the crook of her knee and gently lifting her leg up to rest on his shoulder. He turned his head and nipped at her thigh, making her jolt and gasp.

The marksman dragged his teeth up her thigh towards her center, dipping his knobby middle finger into her core and stroking her walls, grinning as he felt how slick she already was for him. He slipped his finger out of her and replaced it with his tongue, delving into her wet petals and greedily lapping up her nectar. He devoured her, his chin shining with her slickness and when he felt her fingers twist into his hair he growled against her flesh, making her moan from the sensation.

He pressed two fingers inside her again, putting his dexterous tongue to work on her swollen clit, torturing the little bundle of nerves at the top of her entrance with swirling and flicking motions as his fingers pumped in and out of her heat. Clint heard her crying out and felt her clamping around his fingers. Knowing she was starting to come undone, he sucked her clit harder, wanting her to forget her own name before her orgasm was over. He glanced up at her, watching her face contort with pleasure as he drew out her climax with his ministrations. When it seemed like she was in real danger of collapsing in a boneless heap, he finally eased off the pace of his fingers and tongue, letting her come down from her high gradually.

Clint withdrew his hand from her core and wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand, gently sliding her leg off his shoulder and raising himself up, internally very pleased at the almost glassy look in his partner's eyes. He kissed her full lips softly; gathering her against his frame and supporting her weight, feeling her slacken against him. 

Natasha watched her partner stand with a hazy look in her eyes, a satisfied feather soft smile on her face. She was enormously grateful for the wall at her back and the man in front of her as she was still wobbly from an orgasm that threatened to cause her to pass out.

"Damn you and your mouth, Barton," she murmured, resting her forehead against his chest, "Talk about compromised." Clint chuckled at the little redhead's comment, lifting her chin again for a kiss. She kissed him, her tongue licking along his lips, demanding entry. Pulling him with her, she backed again to the wall of the shower, straddling one of his muscular thighs, needing the support to stand. That the feel of his leg trembling under her was amazing didn't enter into the equation at all.

Her eyes slid to a catlike slit of pure pleasure, arms twining around his neck, tugging into his hair, gently rubbing herself against him and relishing the feeling of being surrounded by Clint, warm, safe, free to fly and know that a crash landing wasn't about to happen.

His silver eyes bore holes into her soul in a way she still had no clue how to deal with. Partner, lover, teammate and the only man she could trust. Likely ever would. The man who wore the Black Widow out. Who rescued her more times than she cared to admit? Who could destroy her completely with his mouth.

She pulled his head away from hers, gently but still eliciting a slightly whiny groan from Barton. "God I love your mouth," she grinned, rubbing the tip of her nose against his. "Take me to bed? I don't think I can stand anymore."

Clint chuckled deep in his chest at her comment, more than satisfied that he had managed to unravel his lover so completely. More than anything Clint wanted to make Natasha understand how precious she was to him, to completely erase any lingering doubts she might have because he knew it was in her nature to trust slowly, even when it came to him. He searched her eyes and saw that love and trust there, swearing that he'd do whatever it took to make sure it never diminished.

She tugged him into a deep kiss that stirred the embers of his want for her back to flame, and he reached over blindly to turn off the shower. He scooped the little redhead up in his arms; from the way her legs were trembling he wasn't even sure if she could wrap them around him properly so he carried her bridal-style back into the bedroom. 

Nat tucked her head into the crook of Barton's neck, arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. Internally she rolled her eyes and he walked right past the towels, water puddling off the pair of them, leaving a trail from the washroom to the foot of the bed. 

The archer gently set his partner down on the bed, letting the floral coverlet take the worst of the water droplets clinging to her skin. He'd get a fresh comforter out of the closet later. Clint climbed knelt between Natasha's legs and leaned down over her, dipping his head into the crook of her neck and sucking and licking the moisture off her flushed skin. He groaned deeply as he rocked his hips down to grind his erection against her center, rapidly becoming fully hard for her and losing control of the rhythm of his breathing.

When he rocked himself against her and his own breathing became uneven, she marshaled her strength, wanting to be able to give the sandy haired archer anything he desired.  Natasha struggled to wrap her leg up around his waist and he gently pushed her leg back down on the bed, hushing her protest. "Shh... Let me take care of you beautiful, please..." He murmured, craning his head up to kiss her ravenously. Clint braced himself on one elbow and slid his free hand down her graceful curves, hooking under her thigh and pulling her leg up, opening her up for him. He held her securely and slid into her slick heat, eliciting a breathy moan from both of them.

This was their partnership in a nutshell. She could do it all, and often did, but when she was past the point where she was done - when she had nothing left - Barton was there to pick up where she left off, so seamlessly no one ever knew that Natasha Romanov had limits. 

He pumped in and out of her slow and deep, angling his hips up like she liked and feathering kisses across her neck and collarbone as he took her. This time Clint wasn't trying to blow his partner's mind, he just wanted to make her feel good and desired and like she was really whole when he was inside her, because that was how she made him feel. It was less about ecstasy and more about intimacy. He didn't want to fuck her right now; he wanted to make love to her.

As he thrust into her, rational though stopped. This wasn't the energetic performance of earlier on the bed, nor was it the brain shattering destruction of her dignity with his tongue in the shower. This was slow, spine tingling and reaching far past the edges of her skin. With his body, Barton showed Natasha her place in his world. The redhead sighed happily, her hand cupping his head, fingers laced in his damp hair, not guiding him but trying in her small way to show that he too had a place held by no one else in her world. She would protect him from the world and slaughter anyone who caused him harm without even a second thought.

Clint brought his pace up just a little, adding fuel to the slow burn and using all his control not to get ahead of himself and start thrusting into her hard and fast like his instinct was urging him to do. "I love you... Come for me, Nat, please baby, it feels so good when you come on me." He panted against her ear, nibbling on her earlobe and groaning as she shuddered and arched against him, her walls clenching around his throbbing length, drawing him further inside her.

She came around him with a desperate little mewl and he rolled his hips up into her, panting raggedly as he followed her over the edge spilling deep inside her. The marksman let go of her leg and slipped out of her heat, craning his head down to kiss her tenderly. Natasha blinked back tears and he pecked her full somewhat swollen lips again, making himself climb off the bed and retrieve another blanket from the closet. 

Natasha wormed her way lazily under the sheets that had stayed dry and he yanked the damp cover off, leaving it in a heap on the floor and spreading the fresh blanket over the small mattress. He climbed into bed and immediately gathered the little redhead up against his larger frame, sighing deeply with contentment as she melted into his embrace.

Warm and safe in the sheets and tucked in against Barton's side, Natasha gave a little moan of happiness. "Best partner ever. And if you bring me tea in the morning, I may have to kiss you," she murmured into his chest. He wrapped one strong arm around her middle and tipped his head down to kiss the back of her neck. "Good night Tasha," he murmured, letting his head sink back into the pillow and his eyes fall shut. He grinned as she answered him, feeling her little hum of satisfaction vibrate against his chest.

Her eyes closed, wrapped in the warmth and scent of her archer, the tightness that had been there since she got the call from Coulson finally eased. Leg wrapped securely around his, one arm draped across his chest and her face tucked into the curve of his neck, she surrendered to sleep, at peace for the first time in a very long time.

He waited for the redhead's breathing to deepen and even out, almost immediately after she gave in to sleep Clint drifted off into a deep, bone-weary slumber, despite the hell his life had been the past few days he had never felt more whole or content than he did in that moment as he lay entwined with his partner, his lover.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Clint has an attack and Natasha has an idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collab rp between littleblueartist (on tumblr) & I. 
> 
> Any edit issues are my fault.

The clear light of dawn crept through the bedroom window, adding a golden tint to the edges of the lacy white curtains drawn across it. Clint’s eyes fluttered open, no matter how late he stayed up or how tired he was the archer was an early riser to a fault. He became aware of a light warm weight pressing down on his side and he smiled, looking down at his partner who was still sleeping soundly curled against him.

He watched her sleep for a while, watching the sunlight gradually give her rich red curls a fiery glow as it climbed higher and spilled more into their room. Clint remembered her comment last night about tea and decided to earn the kiss she had mentioned. The archer carefully extracted himself from the bed, unable to avoid stirring her but not jostling her much so she could come awake slowly. He tugged on a pair of black standard-issue SHIELD athletic pants and wandered out to their kitchenette, rummaging around till he found the coffee and tea.

Natasha felt the warm solid man that was her body pillow, carefully slide from under her. Eyes still closed to the morning light, a small smile curled the edges of her lips. He might be a highly trained SHIELD agent and he may be one of the best assassins in the world. Hawkeye might even be one of the most paranoid Americans she had ever met, but there was no way that Clint Barton could get out from under the Black Widow, even if she had been asleep, without waking her. She was comfortable. Okay, just a little sore from all the happy exercise last night, but still bone-meltingly comfortable and she had no intent of coming out of her cocoon of blankets. If Barton was crazy enough to get out of bed, it could be on his head.

He filled and started the kettle and the coffee maker, sighing and stretching his arms fully above his head. He tried to be quiet, but the tell-tale sounds of ceramics, cutlery and water running said to her that he might have remembered her promise of the night before and be making her tea. The redhead purred in her head. Incredible sex, someone she could trust implicitly and someone who would brave a cold floor in the morning to bring her tea? Her partner would rapidly hit sainthood at this rate.

Clint heard a light rap at the door and quirked his eyebrows, padding over peer out the peep-hole. There was no one there. He opened the door cautiously; the muscles in his back and shoulders tensing up, reading to spring. Then the local newspaper that had been left propped on their door fell on his foot.

Barton chuckled at himself, his line of work had certainly done nothing to diminish the paranoia that had been ingrained in him as a kid that everything was a trick and everyone was out for his blood. He sighed and stooped, picking up the newspaper and scanning it as he closed and locked their door again.

Unsurprisingly every headline was about the Midtown attack, pictures of the chaos splattered across the page. His silver eyes hardened as he looked it over, his chest getting tight as he read the estimated numbers of casualties and injuries. It was surprisingly quite low, but that was a number that didn’t include all the SHIELD agents the public at large were not aware of. His vision started to swim and Clint stumbled a few steps backwards, blindly gripping the back of the couch in an effort to slow down as he dropped to one knee.

The pain closed over his head like ice water and he pressed his forehead into his hand, a desperate, frustrated growl rumbling in his chest as he struggled to fight the searing agony. 

The pained growl coming from her partner had her eyes open in a flash. Natasha was up and reaching for her pistol that was parked under her pillow.  Sliding off the bed, she glanced over at her lover. His hand was pressed to his forehead; eyes squeezed tight shut, growling like he was being tortured. A quick review of the room showed no one else. Gun low, she padded close to Clint, her professional calm now firmly in place.  “Hawkeye. Barton. Talk to me,” she said quietly, reaching out for the anguished archer. Once again, he looked up to her with silver eyes tinged in ethereal blue. Damn. Loki again.   
  
Looking around, she noticed the open paper in front of him. The story and photos were all about New York and the damage caused there. She thought for a moment - when this happened last night, it was after the news report was talking about the same thing. Perhaps…  
  
Quickly making a decision, she stripped the gun of its magazine and the round in the chamber and tossed all three to the far sides of the room. Her hands low, she came towards her partner, eyes searching for any sign that he was being controlled. Everything her training told her, Barton was in control, just in extreme pain. 

Clint sank deeper down into the blinding haze of pain radiating from behind his eyes, fighting in vain to stay ahead of it but feeling his consciousness flicker in and out like a bad radio signal. His head felt like it was going to split open and it was all he could do not to scream and collapse to all fours.

“Barton. It’s me. Tasha. I’m going to touch you now. I’m going to hold you and try to help you find yourself again. I’m not going to hurt you. Loki does  _not_  get to keep you.”  
  
She slid in towards him, eyes searching his, body wary for a blow from him but moving in none the less. He was her partner. She had his back as much as he had hers. Her hands went to his temples, soothing the tension there. Her body molded to his, arms wrapping around his shoulders, whispering soothing words in Russian and cradling his head in her hands, asking him to return to her.

He couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears but a light touch on his temples made a small snag in the fabric of agony wrapping his mind. He latched on to the sensation, grasping at anything that wasn’t the awful pain he was in. A small sound slipped through the crack the touch had created, and he finally was able to identify it as Natasha’s voice, speaking to him in a low, gentle tone.

Watching Clint, Natasha realized that her voice and touch was helping break through the pain. She kept up a steady stream of endearments and touches, keeping her eyes trained on her partner to track his movements and pain.

“Natasha…” Clint whispered, his arms wrapping around her smaller body that was clinging to his frame. She was speaking to him softly, giving him something to focus on beyond the mind splitting pain. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he came back to himself and slumped against her, resting his sweaty brow on her shoulder. He took a few shuddering breaths, letting her support most of his weight. Finally he made himself pick his head back up, his eyes back to their normal storm cloud hue. He sagged in her arms, exhausted by his ordeal. “Welcome back, lover. The flash from last night again?”

He shook his head, leaning back and sitting heavily on the floor, running his hand through his sleep-mussed hair. Frustration blossomed in the wake of his pain and he clenched his fist against his forehead. “Fuck me, this is bullshit. I can’t even look at a fucking newspaper without losing it.” He growled, looking up at his partner, his face an open book of his pain both physical and emotional.

Natasha listened to his frustration with what was happening. His words confirmed her suspicions. “Then we address the problem, Barton. Clearly, either from association or because of something that Loki left as a going away present, you have a trigger. We disarm the trigger - give you the skills to disarm it - and it no longer poses a threat. But that will  require some time.”

“And not looking at the news? How is that reasonable, Tasha?” he complained bitterly.

She shook her head. “At no point did I suggest that you avoid your trigger, Barton. I have a suggestion, but I will respect your decision. The poorer choice is telling SHIELD and letting their doctors try to cure you. I do not recommend this as I believe it will be ineffective and will keep you benched and vulnerable to those in SHIELD who may well blame you for your actions under Loki’s yoke.” 

The redhead swallowed hard, hands running through her hair abruptly. If Clint didn’t know better, he would swear she had picked that stall up from him. 

“Barton, Red Room did a lot of bad things. But they did teach me how to inure myself from trigger phenomena. I can help you with this, and I will be more gentle with you than they ever were with me but this will be me trying to trigger that reaction more often so you can defeat it.” she took a deep breath in, closing her eyes and centering herself against the verbal storm that was likely coming. “Will you let me? Do you trust me with this?”

Clint looked up at his partner through his eyelashes as she spoke, his gut clenching at the thought of putting himself through more of this pain deliberately. And what was an even more painful thought was from what she had told him about the Red Room’s games, things were likely to get a lot worse before they got better. And considering what things getting worse would likely entail…

The redhead watched the archer’s face close down to her suggestion. She read his fear of forcing himself to feel this pain and she understood it. That did not change her mind. This was the best choice. He would not rely on himself the more often this happened unless he proved to himself he was in control of what happened - which meant deliberately triggering his episodes and helping him power through them.

Clint shook his head again, swiping his hand down his face and clearing his throat so he could speak again. “You want to try and trigger this on purpose? No, I… It’s too dangerous. I trust you, but if it goes too far and I lose control, I might hurt you, even kill you… I can’t take that risk.” The archer swallowed another growl of frustration, springing off the ground and stalking to the kitchen sink, turning on the water and splashing his face in an attempt to calm himself. Fuck, he hated this. He hated Loki for doing this to him, hated himself for being so damn weak.

“Barton, you’ve forgotten that in close combat, I beat you. I’m not going to trigger this when you’ve got your bow and distance on me. Plus, we just demonstrated that you won’t hurt me. At neither instance did you seriously try to hurt me. Even with Loki, you were reluctant.” His eyebrows shot up at that, remembering clearly pulling out his combat knife and trying to push it to her throat. Her eyes rolled, “Yes, we had a tussle. Trust me, I have fought you enough times to know when you are trying. It would have been harder to bounce your skull against that railing if you were not fighting what you did. Trust me. You won’t kill me.”

She was right.  He could not go to SHIELD with this. Fury might trust him and want to help one of his finest agents recover, but if the Council got even the slightest sniff of this it would be all over. He’d be dead within hours of them finding out he was still compromised, or worse he’d be shipped off to some out of the way facility and taken apart like a lab rat until they got what they wanted out him and then they’d kill him.

“What other choice do you have, Barton?” She asked simply.

He looked back at his partner, his heart sick at the thought of hurting her again. But… He couldn’t deny that she was right. He couldn’t go to SHIELD. He couldn’t just stick his head in the sand and hope he never saw another report about the Tesseract again. Hell, he had no way of knowing if that was his only trigger anyway. He bit his lip, and she smiled slightly at him, knowing that he had accepted that her way was the only way, despite the risks involved.

She knew he was, if not willing, prepared to try after he thought about it. Internally, she broke a little. She was going to spend the next while intentionally hurting the man she loved. She would find opportunities to put him into pain so intense it shredded his finely honed self-control. She would be what Red Room was - a monster, remaking his mind. Looking at him, his lip between his teeth, she shoved her feelings away. This was the only way. She had to, as he had put it, take his mind and play.

She stood and padded over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and he sighed, tipping his head down to press his furrowed brow to hers. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want to hurt you.” He murmured, cupping her face with one hand and kissing her softly. “Thank you, Nat.” He added, kissing her again. He wasn’t sure what he’d done in another life to deserve having this woman on his side, since it certainly wasn’t due to anything he’d done in this one.

Standing with her arms around him, listening to his fears again, she nodded. This was the right thing. His kiss sealed her resolve. There was nothing she was not prepared to do to help him. Partner, best friend and now lover - this was everything the Red Room had warned her against. Perhaps it was poetic justice that their techniques would save him.

Clint groaned a little as she walked away from him, knowing he needed to let her do her work but not looking forward to the ordeal it would be. Especially since he had no guarantee that any efforts they made would actually work. Still, he couldn’t just do nothing.

The archer nodded, grinning crookedly at his partner. “We already missed breakfast, but brunch isn’t for another hour…” He trailed after her into the bathroom, tugging at her bed shirt playfully. They ended up just barely making it downstairs in time before they stopped serving breakfast.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing what a fruit plate can cause

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collab rp between littleblueartist (on tumblr) & I. Any edit issues are my fault.

She rolled her eyes at her partner. "The circus?" she deadpanned. "Really…and what, Barton, do you expect me to do? Be your lovely assistant and wander around in 5 inch heels and a skimpy, spangly bathing suit?"

The look on his face was priceless. Natasha could see him picturing it and drooling just a little. The redhead lifted her white linen napkin and dabbed the end of it to his lip, just to watch him grin.

"You'd be amazing at it. The marks would be falling all over themselves to come see you. I could be shooting rubber arrows and they wouldn't care." His eyes went wide and gleeful. "Oh, if we set it up right, you’d have a costume I could peel off with arrows and throwing knives."

"Stop, Barton. We are not joining the circus," she said with an indulgent but firm smile. She picked up a slice of melon from her plate, slowly nibbling, testing her sandy-haired partner's patience as she ate it in as provocative a manner as she could.

Clint chuckled at the thought of the circus act, but was quickly distracted by the very... deliberate way Natasha was eating her fruit. His thoughts flickered back to the image of her in heels and a suit made of sequins and little else and suddenly it was a lot less amusing and a lot more arousing. He knew he was gawking shamelessly as she licked the sweet juice from her fingertips, but he didn't care. It was still incredible to him that he didn't have to stomp down even the thought of enjoying looking at her. He was greedy for every opportunity that was presented to him.

By the time she was done and licking her fingers, he was slack-jawed and whining a little. She looked at him, grinning and said, "Don't steal my strawberries. Now, upstairs and let's get ready for a run."

Heading up the stairs, Natasha stilled her mind. She decided to take her partner on a ten mile run. It would get him sufficiently loose to try the trigger. She would grab the article while he was in the shower and tuck it in a pocket of her pants. That would allow her to test if her theory as well as have him more mentally prepared - the running would produce endorphins and may help him with the pain. 

She wasn't looking forward to this, but Natasha steeled her resolve. Barton needed control. She _would_ make that happen. She breathed through her panic at the idea of losing him to Loki, SHIELD or any of the other possible ways this could go bad if she didn't deal with it quickly.

He trailed behind her upstairs to their room, enjoying the view the whole way up. Those skinny jeans she wore all the time were a pain to get off but damn did they flatter her ass. He followed her into the room and locked the door behind him, snatching her wrist as she headed to their bedroom presumably to change into clothes for a run.

Natasha became so lost in her thoughts that she missed Clint locking the door. "Oh no, you can't tease me like that and not expect consequences Tasha..." Clint tugged her back spinning her into him, cupping her face and kissing her.  His comment echoed in her ear as he kissed her and she pulled backwards. He gripped her harder as she tried to back out of his embrace, sweeping the tip of his tongue into her mouth demanding entrance. "Now is not the time, Barton -” she murmured against his lips, trying to keep focus on their plan. Opening her mouth to talk acted like an invitation to plunder her mouth to the archer. He felt her shiver against him, allowing him access and he smiled against her lips as he deepened the kiss. Yes, he was stalling going for their "run", likely just the vehicle for his first trigger session, but the way she had riled him up in the dining room told him that she wanted him to stall them too.

She was probably not looking forward to putting him through the pain as much as he dreaded experiencing it. So despite the fact that they both knew they should just get started as quickly as possible, Natasha didn't resist when he walked them back to the couch and sat down heavily on it, dragging her down along with him so she was straddling his lap. It was a very real possibility that triggering a flash intentionally would end badly, so this might be his last chance to be with her. He wasn't going to waste it.

His hands spread across her back, arms keeping her tightly molded to his frame, his kisses worked their magic. Yes, they needed to work on his flashes, but there was no way that she could refuse him when his clever mouth worked on hers. What small part of her brain still worked mocked her. Great assassin, trained by the Red Room, incapable of feeling - ha! Destroyed and sidetracked by a simple carnie, from Iowa of all places, a normal human being. She should be ashamed.

Clint gripped her rear and slid her forward in his lap, aligning their hips and nipping at her full lip as he ground his growing arousal against her center. He growled in his throat as she yanked at his t-shirt, her nails dragging up his sides as she tugged it up his chiseled torso. He sat up away from the couch so she could pull it all the way off of him, quickly following suit tugging her own shirt off before tangling his hand in her hair and capturing her lips again in a searing kiss.

As Barton reclaimed her mouth, she reached behind her to unclasp her bra, sliding it off her arms. Natasha groaned into his mouth, wet and grinding against his arousal. Her thoughts were shoved aside. There would be time for their experiments after and these were better endorphins and would last longer. Pushing her arms against his chest to lift her head from hers, she panted, "Couch, bed, shower or kitchen counter?"

Clint slid his callused hands up Natasha's bare sides, groaning as she rocked against him and dipping his head into her neck when she pulled back from him. "All of the above?" He chuckled against her creamy skin, nipping her collarbone and greedily fondling her full breasts with his strong hands. He knew now wasn't the time for a full sexual tour of their suite, so he tipped his head up and answered her more seriously.

She laughed at his response. "Greedy man," she murmured against his hair, eyes rolling at him. "I know you're trying to stall." Natasha kissed him, lightly, a grin touching her lips, softening her words.

"I don't know about you but I'm comfortable right here..." He grinned, capturing her ruby lips and kissing her ravenously. His hands wandered down to the hem of her dark jeans and flicked open the button fly, allowing his dexterous fingers access to her center. He growled behind his teeth as he slid beneath her already soaked panties, teasing her clit in small circles. "God you're so wet Tasha, I want to be inside you..." He murmured, pressing his middle and ring fingers into her tight core as he spoke for emphasis.

Between his hands, mouth and his words, the redhead was rapidly being pulled apart. Her brain wasn't focusing and the shivers running up her spine in time with his touch drove her to distraction. She hopped off his lap, skinning herself out of her jeans and panties, her eyes dark as she stared at her lover. 

He enjoyed the little show, grinning hungrily at her flawless naked form. "Damn you're beautiful." He commented as she climbed back on his lap, and for a second her assault on his jeans stilled. Her blue eyes met hers and he could see the shadows in them. How many nasty, piggish men had told her she was beautiful, looking at her as nothing more than a toy, a piece of meat...

She had to remind herself that this was Clint - he truly meant it. He really did love her. That anyone, let alone someone who knew her as well as he did, could love her as much as he did astonished her.  Coming from Clint, the words were different, and she knew it. He leaned forward, cupping her face in one hand and bringing his lips a whisper from hers. "You are so beautiful, Natasha. I'd be lost without you." He said in a tone so low it was barely audible over their mingled ragged breathing. She grinned at him and her eyes softened, then her hands were working on his pants again and the archer lost track of rational thought once more.

She freed his straining length from his briefs and Clint hissed in his throat as she pumped him from base to tip. He growled her name and dragged her hands up to wrap around his neck, guiding her hips down and thrusting into her slick heat with a low groan. He rocked his hips up to meet her as she rode him, littering her chest and throat with bites and searing kisses.

Natasha canted her hips to increase the friction when the zipper of his pants caught her ass. "Dammit," she muttered, hopping off him, grabbing her behind. For half a breath he panicked, wondering what he could have possibly done to upset her, but then the attention she gave to a little pink mark on her ass shed light on what had happened. "Dammit, Barton, lie down!" the redhead demanded, pushing him with one hand and grabbing his damnable pants and ripping them off his legs. His boxers did not come with them so she grabbed them in both hands and tore them down the seam, flicking them off his body.

Broken snippets of a chuckle were all that slipped past his lips for fear of what his partner might do to him if gave into his urge to burst into laughter. He immediately complied with the redhead's order, still smirking at the way she yanked his jeans off. When she literally ripped his boxers off, it was more of a turn on than he would have expected, except that the miffed look on her face still kept him dangerously close to the edge of full on laughter.

In a way he liked this just as much as the more heated moments between them; he liked knowing that there were no false pretenses and no ridiculous expectations between them. Yes they were lovers now, but they were still friends, still partners, still Clint and Nat. 

She climbed back on him, eyebrow raised at his amused and stunned expression. "Don't even dare, Barton. I believe you have a promise to keep. Or do I get more melon?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> between breakfast & a test...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collab rp between littleblueartist (on tumblr) & I.
> 
> Any edit issues are my fault.

Clint curved up a bit to meet her and gripped her arms tugging her down with him as he lay back against the cushions. "Hmm, that does sound tempting... but that would require you to get off this couch and I can't have that," he replied with a devilish grin.

Natasha rolled her eyes at her partner's comment about temptation. " _Watch me eat fruit_ " was filed away under " _things that make Barton's eyes cross_ ". She kept that list for a long time, but this new dimension to their relationship would give her fodder for a very long time. Her normally completely in control partner was perversely fun to tease.

He angled his head and sealed his lips to hers, making it clear with his lips and tongue and teeth that he fully intended to make good on his promise. She started rocking her hips against his again and he tensed beneath her, the delicious friction of their skin driving him crazy with want.

The marksman gripped his partner's thighs to hold her still and slid into her slick core, bracing one foot on the floor and bucking his hips up into her. His steady rhythm grew erratic after a few moments and when Natasha tipped her head back and he felt her right on the verge of unraveling, he abruptly slowed his pace. "Почему вы остановились, олень?" she ground out, eyes flashing. He grinned at her knowingly. She had been very close to losing it and he had deliberately backed off, wanting to tease her like she had with her ridiculous fruit eating. Besides he knew if he slowed down and built her back up again, it would make their pleasure more intense when they finally did tip over the edge.

"Not yet... Close your eyes and just think about how good this feels... Think about how much I love you..." Clint murmured between ragged breaths. Her eyes fluttered shut and he placed one sweet kiss on her full lips. She followed his instructions and dropped inside her own head. He knew her too well. Just feeling was something she was not good at, but with his words & hands surrounding her, she surrendered and followed his lead. He angled his hips and thrust in and out of her slow and deep, completely lost in her heat and the bliss painted across her face and the way she was whispering his name on almost every labored exhalation she made.

She picked up on his rhythm and rode him hard, her walls clenching around him in her ecstasy and it took all the will he had to draw this out till she was a shuddering mess above him. Clint finally craned his head up and bit down on her neck, growling against her flushed skin and thrusting rapidly into her core, her screams of pleasure as she came sending him over the edge after her. He spilled deep inside her, gasping desperately for breath and letting his head fall back against the couch cushion.

"Damn..." He slurred, not able to remember the last time he had felt like that when he came, hell maybe it had never felt that good before. Natasha collapsed atop him, taking shaky breaths and dragging one hand up to card through his sandy colored hair that was dark with sweat. Clint smiled, wrapping his arms around his boneless partner and holding her tight.

"Barton," she said after, draped over her lover and grinning, eyes bright and playful, "you are entirely too good at that. One of these days, you will explain how you can do this that easily to me."

Clint pulled her face to his and lazily kissed her. "Do what, Nat?" He looked ridiculously pleased with himself and Natasha prodded him with a finger. 

"Distract me. We had a plan and here we are with no clothes on. You'd think we were really here on a honeymoon." Her lips pursed for a moment and then, planting both hands on either side of his head, she stretched out her spine, arching away from him, groaning. "Ugh, at this rate, I'm going to have to go back and train with the recruits," she mock-huffed.

Looking back into her partner's eyes, she smiles that small, soft smile that he knew was his. "Dammit, Barton, I love you. Don't doubt that. I don't know why you love me but you do. Don't let me lose you, long term, for a fabulous weekend by the beach." She leaned in, licking her lips before slowly giving him a toe-curling kiss. When she felt his arm tighten around her waist and his other hand slide up her back to tangle in her hair, she lifted her head. "Come shower with me and then let's go running. Okay? I promise. I'll still be right here when we're done."

A low growl rumbled in Clint's chest as his partner kissed him ardently, and he sighed deeply at her words when she broke away leaving him wanting more. Though in all honestly he didn't think he'd ever get enough of the little redhead to satisfy him. He released his grip on her fiery curls and entwined his fingers with hers, letting her tug him off the couch and into the bathroom.

He leaned against the door frame watching Natasha turn on the water and test the temperature with an outstretched hand. "You realize it's completely unreasonable to expect me to jump in the shower with you, scrub up and get out so we can go for a run, right?" He chuckled at her as she glanced back at him over her pale shoulder. 

"Go on, you shower first. If I get in there with you we won't be running anytime soon." He tossed his head at the steaming flow of water, smirking and crossing his corded arms over his chest. His sharp silver eyes tracked every tiny movement his partner made, filing away every detail of her grace and beauty even doing something as mundane as washing. Natasha Romanov was exquisite; he had thought so back when she was his target, and even more so now that she was his best friend and lover.

Clint waited for her to finish cleansing the sweat and the sex from her body, handing her a fluffy white towel to wrap herself in as she stepped out, craning his head down to kiss her full moist lips ravenously before reluctantly letting her go and getting into the shower himself. By the time he was done Natasha was dressed for a run and he made himself put on his own standard issue black SHIELD athletic wear instead of peeling hers off of her.

"All right, I'm ready..." He said with a note of resignation, knowing what was coming and not looking forward to it as much as he knew it was necessary.

Natasha looked at Clint, her eyes softening for a moment and she pulled him to her, tilting her head to look at him. "Clint, I wasn't joking. I'm still going to be here. You couldn't get rid of me from the start, what makes you think you can now?" She reached up and pulled his head in for a kiss, sweet and unrushed. Maybe he didn't listen to her words, but she wanted him to feel the safety she could offer in her kiss. 

This was going to hurt him - a lot. Letting go of him and heading to the stairs, she dug deep into that part of her soul that survived freezing Russian winters and starving as punishment and all the horrors her childhood had brought that taught her that working towards a goal could completely consume you. This goal, saving Barton, was worth diving back into that cesspool of memory.

The two assassins hit the boardwalk, jogging easily. The redhead noted the time and did the math of how long it would take to cover the distance she wanted to get before testing her theories. "Barton, how far does this quaint little town of yours go? I think I'd like to have both of us a bit from 'just plain folks' before we tried anything."

His response gave her the information she needed and she fell into a comfortable stride. Her ankle still ached, but it seemed to be better than yesterday and still better than her helter-skelter run through the helicarrier. She laughed softly to herself. If she could survive running away from an angry Hulk in a confined flying carrier ship, she could resign herself to making Clint uncomfortable.

After an hour, she pulled the two of them off the path they were running and sprawled on the nearby grass. Clint's muscles burned and his lungs felt tight, but it was a good kind of ache, the familiar ache of putting his body through its paces. Natasha patted the grass beside her, "Come on, Barton. Trust me."

He steeled himself and settled on the ground beside her, but his apprehension must have been apparent on his face because her blue eyes softened and she pulled him in for a quick hard kiss, and then straddled his lap, facing him and the feel of her pressed against him, the taste of her lips centered him and quieted the storm brewing inside him. She reached behind her to pull the folded newspaper article from her back pocket. Staring squarely in the archer's eyes, she unfolded the article and placed it in his hands. "Go on. Read."

She handed him the article from the newspaper about the attack on Midtown. He glanced at the print, then back up to her face. "Nat, listen to me... No matter what happens, I love you. And I'm sorry if I..." He tried to apologize pre-emptively but Natasha hushed him by pressing her fingertips to his lips. She looked down at the paper he was holding, gently urging him to put his trust in her and dive in.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> testing Natasha's theory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collab rp between littleblueartist (on tumblr) & I.
> 
> Any edit issues are my fault.

Clint took a deep breath then took the sheet of newsprint in both hands and unfolded it. His gunmetal gray eyes darkened as he read the article, looking at the blurred image of the gash in the sky over the Stark Tower alongside the words. Even though he was expecting it this time, the stab of pain behind his eyes still knocked the breath from his lungs. His muscles tensed as the color saturation of the world turned up, brilliant flashes of blue swam across his vision.

"Fuck..." He growled, clenching the paper in one hand and the grass at his hip with the other. He tried to remember that Natasha was right there with him, focus on her weight on his lap and her hand pressed to his furrowed brow But it was quickly falling away from him in a tidal wave of agony. All those people... They got hurt and died because of him. Because he was weak. He had tried to kill his partner, the most precious person in his world and now as if that wasn't enough he was dragging her back down into this pit with him.

"Nat, let me go, I can't..." He hissed, trying to get up, unable to remain still as the pain overwhelmed him. He wanted to scream, to drill a bullet through his skull, to fall off the face of the planet if it meant this pain would end. He could feel his consciousness dissolving like sugar in a rainstorm and his heart quailed at what he might try to do to her. "No... No!" He yelled, flinching away from her touch and hissing as a fresh flash of pain burned away his last lucid thought.

She tore the slip of paper from his clenched fingers, tossing it to the side. Blue eyes hard, she stared into her partner's face, cataloging his reactions. Much as she hated herself for this, what she needed was intel on what was happening to him. This was the first time she had been able to see the entire attack and she needed to absorb everything if she was going to help him beat this.

His pupils had immediately flared wide when the attack started – past the usual point of desire and to just a circle of black. His brow furrowed tightly as she could tell he was fighting the reaction. Her hand caressed his head, gently trying to smooth the extra pain from him fighting it. As she tried to soothe him, she could see the brilliant blue flare in his eyes, leaving them the eerie glow she had learned to loathe.

Clint was adrift in a sea of agony, every nerve ablaze. It was blinding, deafening, his heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might explode. The only thing keeping him tethered to reality at this point was the thread of awareness he had of his partner atop him. He couldn't hear her voice, but he felt her warm breath on his ear; couldn't see the grief in her face as she watched him in pain, but he felt her erratic pulse against his skin where she gripped him desperately.

What worked the last time was her touch and her voice to bring him back. When he begged her to let him go, she stayed grounded on his lap, gently anchoring her hands, one in his hair, the other around his shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere, Barton. I'm right here. I have a theory. Don't fight this - don't give in but don't fight it. It is part of history now, not your future. You aren't going to hurt me or anyone else unless you choose to. New York happened because Loki chose, not you." She leaned in, cheek to cheek with him, lips brushing his ear, "I am your anchor, partner. Like the time you had to seduce the rich guy. Listen to my voice. Follow my lead. You can do this. You are in control. The pain is temporary and will fade. Let it go."

Natasha. He tried to speak her name aloud but his throat was closed off. He wrapped his arms around her and screwed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead into the crook of her neck. He focused on her heartbeat thrumming against his brow, the feeling of her warm skin under his fingertips. It gave him a mental foothold, something firm and real to hang on to as he tried to claw his way back to being in control of his own body and mind.

She deliberately fought to keep her breathing steady and even. Natasha held herself against him, wrapping her legs around his waist when he tried to buck her off him in his pain-filled flailing. "Clint, you've got this. I've seen what you can do. Come back to me, lover."

After a few moments of torture finally the fog began to lift and Clint was able to push the pain down, hear what his partner was murmuring in his ear and see the way she was shaking in his lap from fear and stress. He realized how tightly he was gripping her and released her, falling back onto the grass with a haggard sigh.

"Dammit... I'm sorry if I hurt you..." Clint panted, knowing she'd likely have bruises that matched his fingerprints from how hard he'd clung to her. He covered his eyes with his hand, a growl of frustration escaping his lips. Natasha had said this would be a process, which it might take a while for him to be able to overcome the pain and stop the flashes from happening, but it didn't feel like he'd made any progress at all. The pain in his head slowly faded and his vision was back to normal when he opened his eyes again to see Natasha's face hovering just above his.

"Tasha, I just don't see how this-" He started, hopelessness creeping into his voice but he stopped speaking when his partner pressed her fingers to his lips.

"Hawkeye, listen to me. You gave me a couple bruises. Congratulations. All that happened is you gave me a couple bruises. You didn't try to kill me; you didn't even try to hit me, unlike your assumption back in the hotel." She took a deep breath, gripping his chin, forcing him to look up at her, "I've given you bruises in the past as well. It happens. Now we have information. We were right. The story is the trigger. What I need to know now is was I help? Was I right? Am I the path out of it?"

Clint searched his partner's face, making himself take a deep breath and gather up his thoughts that his pain had strewn about. "Yes, I think so. The pain it, it gets so bad that I can't see, can't hear, can't think. But you – I could feel you with me and I just held on to that. It's like being in rough water and being thrown a lifeline." The archer made himself sit up, running a hand through his sweaty hair and eyeing his partner.

"But I still couldn't do anything except wait it out. You have any ideas on how I can control these flashes? Keep them from happening in the first place?" He asked softly, hoping she had a plan. The redhead took a deep breath, running a hand through her hair - a move Clint recognized as his own stall tactic. "What, Tasha?"

"I have a couple ideas – based in my understanding of the psychology of mental programming," she stated, red lip caught between her teeth. "The first option is more of the cognitive readjustment that I delivered on the helicarrier."

Clint interrupted, "When you hit me in the head. I'm not sure how concussions are going to make the pain in my head go away."

The redhead rolled her eyes, "Your head is so thick sometimes, Barton, I could bounce it off the concrete like a quarter all day. You'd never notice." She muttered with a wry grin to herself, "Like that fact that you didn't notice I cared about you. But," she said turning back to him, "that is a valid concern. You won't be much use to me bleeding from the ears all the time."

She flushed, briefly, before she steeled herself to her task. "There is another way. You're familiar with Pavlov's dogs. We could condition your response to – the fight. Change it from the pain to a different response. It is the basis of how Red Room changed me. How you changed me again. When presented with a specific set of stimuli, immediately present a different response pattern. This will rapidly codify in your brain as the correct response, erasing the original."

Barton leaned back on his hands, considering what his partner had suggested. "So if I'm following this, you're talking about ringing a bell, then feeding me, only instead of a bell, it's - the battle. So what's the food, Nat?"

Her teeth worried her lip again. "Me. We use this new – this between us. You're no virgin," her smirk flashed at that comment, "and you are comfortable with your body. That's a comfort zone for you. We use that, plus your attraction to me and the fact that you said you can still perceive me through the pain – that I'm a lifeline – as a way to reprogram your brain away from the pain to pleasure. It's a reasonably small mental switch and once it is there, it's just a matter of you using that iron self-control you've got to tamp it down the rest of the way."

Her voice trailed off as she finished talking. "I think this will work, Clint. You've got to trust me."

Clint felt like she had kicked him in the gut. "You're asking me to use you, use us for something like that? Jesus." The marksman lifted the redhead off his lap, standing up and pinching the bridge of his nose, anger and guilt welling up in his heart and making his trigger finger itch to put a bolt through that damn Asgardian maniac's eyes socket all over again. Natasha got up and approached him, cupping his face and tugging his head down forcing him to meet her gaze.

"I said, I'm asking you to trust me Clint. I know you'd gladly put yourself through any hell to save me, so don't you dare try to tell me I shouldn't do whatever I can to help you. We're partners, we look after each other. Always have, always will." She said firmly, her blue eyes bright with emotion. 

Clint sighed, hating this but knowing they really didn't have much choice. He supposed he really shouldn't be surprised that the universe truly considered nothing sacred when it came to him. "I do trust you, Nat. I don't know why you're willing to put up with my sorry ass but I'm sure as hell glad you are." He grinned at her though it didn't quite warm his stormy eyes when he did so. He bent his head further closing the distance between them, capturing her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He hoped that when the dust settled from all this she'd still melt into his embrace like she was doing now, though he could hardly blame her if she didn't. 

Natasha held the kiss for a while, needing Barton to feel her trust in him but also needing for her to feel like less of a monster. The pain her partner endured was her idea. Loki left this mess behind, but she was the one with the stick poking at the open wound in his brain. She felt the archer's strong arms surrounding her and for a brief moment hid from her own thoughts. They would have to find a way through this together. As much as she told him this was a partnership, she wished she could endure the pain. She was better at it, more used to it. 

Eventually though, she pulled herself away from their kiss. "Barton, come on. Let's go back and hit the beach. Give you some time to rest before we try anything else and actually do the relaxing Fury told us to do."

Clint sighed and nodded as she broke away from him, recognizing that she was offering him an out for a few hours to recover from the pain and gladly taking it. He had lost track years ago of the hundreds of ways he'd been injured and wounded over the years, but these flashes eclipsed any pain he'd experienced by a staggering degree.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting ready for the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collab rp between littleblueartist (on tumblr) & I.
> 
> Any edit issues are my fault.

They started the jog back to town at an easy pace, running along the path with the sea breeze making the tall grass dance and the sun kissing everything with the golden tint of summer. If he was a completely different person with a completely different life, it would be damn picturesque.

But since he was Clint Barton, code name Hawkeye, master assassin and more recent bitch of a twisted megalomaniac from space, the gorgeous scenery and equally gorgeous company did little to brighten his spirits. He stole glances at his partner, his heart twisting and his stomach tying itself up in knots. 

Less than twenty four hours of her becoming his lover and true to form he had already managed to taint it merely by being part of the equation. Why did he have to be so damn weak? He wasn't strong enough save his mother, his brother, wasn't strong enough to keep that Asgardian snake out of his head and stop himself from killing innocent people – and now this. How could he look Natasha in the eye after letting her use the same techniques the Room used on her and still gave her nightmares on him?

The little redhead stayed in step with Barton and listened to quips as they jogged. She knew his coping mechanisms well. The more he cranked up the dry humour, the harder things were for him to cope. Judging by what she was hearing, he was ready to cry. It was definitely time for him to caper in the waves and burn off some of that excess energy. She could soak up some sunshine and possibly even take a nap. Eyes sliding to her partner's form, the idea of enjoying watching him in the water appealed and a small smile touched the edges of her lips.

He felt the redhead staring at him and he forced the grim thoughts plaguing him to the back of his head where they belonged. "So a day at the beach... That means I get to help you pick out a bathing suit, right? We've got our lovebird cover to maintain after all... If we're gonna be convincing I think that means I should get to see you model at least a few." He chuckled when she lightly batted his arm in false annoyance.

"Come on, Barton. Last one back to the room buys dinner."

Her comment made him grin with a little more warmth. "Well I guess a gentleman would stop to tie his shoe about now..." He said thoughtfully. They jogged a few more paces and he laughed when she quirked her eyebrows at him expectantly.

"Sorry Tasha. I'm a lot of things but a gentleman isn't one of them." He smirked at her devilishly and hooked his fingers into the back of her athletic pants, tugging her back a pace and breaking out into a run, quickly taking a sizable lead.

She stared at his ass as he ran off, tearing after him a moment later. His longer legs and his cheating gave him an advantage but she hadn't survived on her own for as long as she had without the ability to deal with cheaters.

The pair of assassins ran all the way back to town, the redhead just barely managing to outpace him at the last second and getting to the hotel porch steps first. She whipped around and flashed him a triumphant grin, panting and flushed from the exercise.

"Beat you. You buy dinner, hot stuff," she crowed as she spun to face her partner, grinning tightly at him, huffing from the exertion. She was relieved to see that the run had done him good. His laughter eased her heart a little – if he could laugh like that, there was a good chance he was starting to feel better. 

Clint shook his head and jogged up to meet her, laughing at how satisfied she looked with herself. "I believe you said last one to the room buys dinner, not last one to the steps." He reminded her with a breathless laugh.

Natasha's eyes widened and she backed out of his reach before he could grab her, dashing inside and locking the front door behind her. "Oh that's real nice, Romanov – real mature." He chuckled, shaking his head at her through the glass when she stuck her pink tongue out at him and turned on her heel to go upstairs. Knowing her partner and the likeliness he would just climb a nearby tree and enter their bedroom that way, she bolted up the stairs to the suite. Flinging open the door, she looked around to see that she had in fact reached the room first. 

Delighted with herself, she quickly stripped off her soaked tee and shimmied out of her running pants and shoes and slipped into the bathroom. If she was going bikini shopping, she would need to shower off from their run. She smirked as she stepped into the hot spray. Nothing said "I won" so much as ignoring his slow return enough to be naked and wet and utterly unconcerned about his arrival.

He did a cursory glance around the door, wondering if the hotel still kept the spare key under the flower pot by the door like they did when he was a boy.

"Gotta love small town America," the archer chuckled, extracting the little brass key from its hiding place right where he remembered it being. He unlocked the door and replaced the key, rolling his silver eyes at how sheltered some parts of the world were. He was up to their room in seconds flat, but of course Natasha had already beaten him inside.

She loved her partner. That never stopped her from being incredibly competitive with him. 

Clint entered their room to the sound of the shower running and chuckled to himself, rubbing his hand over the back of his head. His first impulse was to join her in the shower and teach her a little lesson about locking doors on him, but a pang of guilt held him back. Considering what they were going to be doing later...

Barton stared down at his hands. Thinking about his hands touching the woman he loved when he wasn't fully in control of himself made him feel sick. He rubbed his palms together and cleared his throat, trying to keep his head above his doubts. Natasha knew what she was doing, and if push came to shove she had made him a promise. He would rather die than hurt her, or anyone else for that matter.

The archer went to the sink and ran cold water over a clean washcloth, swiping it over the back of his neck and face cooling down from the run, not wanting the temptation of his partner wet and naked and within arm’s reach. He waited in the kitchen till she came out of their bedroom dressed and ready to go. 

He grabbed his shades, shooting her a crooked grin. "Come on; don't want to waste the sunshine. Let's get some suits and hit the beach." He recognized the look in her blue eyes as she tried to get a read on him and disrupted it by putting his sunglasses on then leaning in and kissing the corner of her full pout before opening the door to their room and preceding her downstairs.

The hotel owner told them a good shop to get swimwear and the pair of assassins headed to the boardwalk. It took Clint less than ten seconds to grab a pair of black swim trunks in his size, and he busied himself buying them a couple beach towels and some sunblock while Natasha perused the racks of bikinis.

The redhead shot him a Look when he approached her with the suntan lotion in his hand and he laughed. "Oh come on, don't look at me like that. You know you'll burn without it if we're out in the sun all day, china doll." Clint winked at her and gripped her hip, tugging her in for a toe curling kiss that he was sure the shop clerk was observing but he didn't care. He was just enjoying the fact that even if he was playing it up, this whole 'lovebird cover' they'd used many times in the past wasn't really an act anymore.

His kiss let Natasha see the feelings her partner hid from her with his shades. It still set her nerves alight and his warm hand on her hip that kept her snugly against him still felt solid and good but she could tell his whole being wasn't in that kiss. It wasn't the same mind-shattering, bone-melting reaction she had before and damned if she didn't want that back.

She pulled herself out of the kiss, biting her lower lip and grinned up at him. "You'll help me put it on later, hot stuff?" she said, following his lead in their cover. "Actually, I need you for this. I am having such a hard time choosing which suit to get. Be a dear and help me decide?"

Clint allowed Natasha to pull him to the back of the store where a row of canvas curtained changing stalls stood. He sat down heavily on one of the little stools and leaned his back against the corner of the wall, a little smirk tugging at his lips as he waited for his partner to show off what she had found to try on. "Stay here and tell me which one you like best."

Without waiting, she danced into one of the changing rooms and stripped efficiently. The first was a simple black string bikini, relatively modest by the standards of the fashion; triangular cups covering enough to be comfortable moving around and the bottom half neatly framed her pert ass. 

Opening the door, she called, "James? What do you think?" Barton looked up and gave an appreciative whistle. The first bikini was very much what he would "expect" to see Natasha in, simple, clean, black... Disarmingly sexy in an understated way.  "Very nice, beautiful – Basic black always did look great on you." 

She smiled, twirling slowly and replied, "True enough but I think I have at least three at home. I love them but I probably should go for something a little different." She stepped back into the change room with a little flirt of her hips before closing the door.

The next was a slightly better than two pieces of dark purple & white tie-dyed fabric tied in place. The bandeau went across her full breasts covering more than the black, but the fact that all that held it in place and shut was a glorified knot at the back should appeal to the archer's need to fidget with his fingers. The bottoms likewise were held by two loose knots at the hips. 

She came out and spun in front of him. "What about this one?" His eyes tightened slightly, more of what she had come to recognize as his hunting expression came cover his face. It was a minute change, but the woman knew her partner. "It's nice. Good colour for you" The second suit surprised him a little, but a good way. The jewel tone purple set off her creamy skin and he couldn't help but appreciate how – accessible it was, seeing as how it was held together by three simple knots.

"Huh – I don't know. Nice wasn't exactly what I was going for, silly. Bikinis aren't about  _nice_ ," she giggled as she headed back for the change room with an exaggerated sway to her hips.

The way she was talking told Clint his little minx of a partner was saving what she thought was the best one for last. He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting with a glint of hungry anticipation in his sharp eyes. The last one was a gamble. It should hit Barton low, in his roots, pull a reaction out of him from below his radar. Designed to look more like jeans than a bathing suit, the top was a fairly standard string bikini style, the blue trimmed in a little white eyelet. The bottoms were functionally high cut, low slung jean shorts. They even had a small zipper to make it easier to get in and out of. The waistband sat just below the top of her hipbones with belt loops. It even looked like the "ragged bottom" had been rolled up, completing the illusion these were shorts made from cut off old jeans. She shook out her hair and grinned. If there was any of the Iowa boy left in her partner, the Daisy Duke short shorts should hit him where he lived.

When she stepped out from behind the curtain, something misfired in the archer's brain and his jaw went slack for just an instant before he managed to snap it shut again. Natasha went over to her partner, sitting across his lap. "So, this is the last one, lover. Which one do you think I should get?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the beach, because what's the point of buying bikinis if you're not going there...really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collab rp between littleblueartist (on tumblr) & I.
> 
> Any edit issues are my fault.

His gaze raked over her as she approached him and it took a considerable amount of self-control to keep his hands casually at rest on her side and under the crook of her knee to help her balance on his lap, when what he really wanted was to let them roam greedily over her smooth skin. Her pleased feline expression told him she knew exactly what she was doing to him in this little number and he cursed her and loved her for it.

"Is that even a question?" He responded with a little huff, unable to keep the rough edge of need out of his voice completely. He slid his hand up her back to tangle into her curls at the base of her neck and tugged her in for a searing, biting kiss, for the moment entirely engrossed in his partner, blind and deaf to the world outside the gorgeous creature he loved in his lap. She leaned into him, her hands splaying over his muscled chest and he growled lightly into her mouth, pulling her closer.

The bright clang the silver bell over the shop door ringing startled them back to the outside world and they broke apart, sharing a heated breath and a knowing grin. Clint's eyes flickered over her shoulder and he quirked his eyebrow at the man how had just walked into the shop and likely gotten quite a show judging from his expression. The archer let his partner up off his lap with a little laugh, slapping her ass playfully as she retreated to the changing stall to grab her things.

"I think you should just cut the tags off and wear that out babe." He called to her, shooting a satisfied little smirk at the man that said without words _, yeah, she's mine. And **yes** , I do know what a lucky bastard I am_. The man nodded at Clint and went back to his shopping.

Natasha grinned to herself, pleased. Her body was tingling after their kiss and she was glad to see Barton without that pinched expression that had haunted him since their run. She grabbed her clothes as well as the purple suit. He liked the jean one best but there was something about the purple that called to her. 

She joined Clint at the register, linking arms with him and bumping hips with him. "Can you get the tags for me, baby? Putting her clothes down on the counter and handed the purple suit to the clerk, Natasha turned her back to her partner. 

Clint's eyes narrowed. "Come on, honey," she said over her shoulder, blue eyes dancing, "they're waiting. The clerk needs to scan the tag," lifting her hair to give him easier access to the tag.

His hand caught the tag and gave a short hard tug, the little strip of plastic giving way under his fingers. The strap, unfortunately, came with it. Barton's hand quickly caught the falling strings. He stepped in closer to her, hands deftly retying the errant bit of fabric as he leaned into her ear and murmured, "You deliberately didn't tie this tight enough, didn't you?"

She turned and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek; her eyes alight before whispering back, "You're the strategic genius, Hawkeye. You figure it out." She grabbed his ass, patting his wallet and said, "Be a dear and pay the nice lady. I don't really have a place to put any money in this. I'm going to go outside and enjoy the sun. Don't be too long..."

Natasha sashayed out into the brilliant sunshine, dark shades over her laughing blue eyes and making sure there was enough sway in her hips to keep Barton's attention as she did. 

Clint's gaze was magnetized to her as she meandered away from him and out of the shop when the door closed behind her an exasperated little sigh escaped his lips that quickly dissolved into a rough chuckle. He shook his head, his shoulders shaking slightly with mirth as he paid the clerk, pulling his shades back down over his gunmetal eyes and taking the bag with his purchases back to the changing stalls. He hurriedly swapped his running clothes for his new black swim trunks and a pair of sandals, figuring now was as good a time as any to get changed. He stuffed his clothes in the bottom of the bag and headed out with a little nod to the cashier.

Natasha was standing on the boardwalk a few shops down, drawing every eye on the pier and having a grand old time flaunting her gorgeous appearance. Good spies hid by blending in and being invisible, excellent spies hid by standing out and being unforgettable. Clint was familiar with the show, but he had to admit he had never appreciated it fully until now.

He approached his redheaded partner and put his hand on the small of her back, leaning down to kiss her temple and whisper against her hair, "You owe me for the suits, Nat, and if you think I'll take money for them, you're sorely mistaken." He pulled back and they walked down the boardwalk hand in hand, master assassins doing a fine job of making play that they were simply a couple that was very much in love. Easy enough to do when there was no longer a distinguishable line between truth and fiction anymore.

She felt her partner's hand span the small of her back, warm and rough against the smooth skin along the edge of her bikini. She blinked, biting back amusement that the touch of his skin was enough to tell her who was there, long before his voice – his scent – anything really. This was going to take some getting used to.

His crack about not taking money for them had her stop and gaze at him over her sunglasses. "Really? Here I thought you did that out of the goodness of your heart." She leaned into him, resting against the broad expanse of his chest, putting enough doe eyes and heaving bosom into it to both addle his brain and to let him know she was playing. "However will I be able to repay you?" Her voice shifted into a lower timbre, one that made him think of whiskey, sex and dark high places, "I'll have to try to think of something, partner."

Natasha licked her lips, catching the lower one in between her teeth, tiniest smile playing on her face as she registered the change in his breathing, the dilation of his eyes and the wicked grin forming.

As they progressed down the boardwalk, the redhead entertained herself by watching people from behind her dark lenses. Yes, she was getting her fair share of glances (not all of them because of her looks, but because of the still visible collection of bruises) but more entertaining was the number of women of all ages that couldn't stop looking at Barton. Clint was getting eyed plenty as well much to his amusement. He figured people were just trying to see around him to the beauty on his arm. Or maybe people were noticing his fairly impressive collection of scars on his torso and back. He didn't go shirtless in public very often for that reason. Her partner had the sharpest pair of eyes in SHIELD but couldn't see that he was beautiful. He had a mouth that would talk him into all kinds of cocky shit, but he did not realize, truly accept, that he was every bit as gorgeous as she was. Then again, the little Russian thought, it was probably just as well. She didn't need to deal with that inflated of a Barton ego. 

Eyeing him, she made a note to hit his back with more arnica when they returned to the room. The bruises from where he landed (after throwing himself through a sheet of glass...idiot) were still fairly lurid and something to help clean them up was in order.

Right now, he just wanted to relax and enjoy some damn sunshine. He had helped save the damn planet, he should get that much. Clint stopped and bought some water bottles for them as well as a big soft pretzel, laughing at the way Natasha wrinkled her nose at him as he ate it, but she stole a few bites of it anyway. The pair headed off the boardwalk and down to the beach, there were a few people close to the pier but it was still early for tourist season so the longer they wandered the more deserted the beach became.

Clint walked with his partner down the beach, enjoying the scent of the sea in his nose and the summer breeze on his tanned skin. They hopped a large weathered driftwood log and rounded a huge craggy boulder that had been excavated from the sand bit by bit over time by the elements. It gave them some semblance of privacy and when Barton started getting antsy, the redhead could tell him to go sit on a perch. Giggling quietly to herself, she grabbed a towel out of his bag and spread it out before lying down on it, face down and tugging her hair out of the way. He enjoyed watching her, everything Natasha Romanov did down the smallest gesture had a certain calculated grace that made her pure poetry to observe. It was that trait that had initially stayed his hand when he had her in his sights all those years ago.

She gazed up at her partner, eyes hidden behind his glasses, staring down at her, "Clint? My back?" Of course he was only too happy to oblige her, secretly amused that he was actually getting to fulfill this fantasy he'd harbored about her for years. Ever since that assignment they'd gone on in Cozumel... The archer grinned as he rummaged through the bag for the lotion.

He settled on the warm sand beside her and tugged the strings of her bikini top loose, flicking them aside so the smooth plane of her back was completely bare. Clint squeezed a dollop of the sunblock in his palm to warm it, then rubbed it into her soft skin, being careful not to apply too much pressure to the bruises she still wore from the Midtown battle and her little run-in with Dr. Banner's "greener" side.

He applied the sunblock to her back, arms, and legs, chuckling at the little moans that escaped her periodically as he turned the job into an excuse to give her a full body massage. She had stubborn knots in her shoulders that he regularly worked out for her, at least when their work didn't have them on separate continents. 

 _Barton Backrub_. From the minute he shifted from just applying lotion to her skin into the full body massage Clint wound up giving her, it was the damned Barton Backrub. Muscles loosened and damned annoying noises escaped her mouth as the miscellaneous aches and pains slowly gave up under his hands. Listening to him laugh at her didn't help either and Natasha drifted off under the warm sun, the feel of her partner's strong hands drawing tension out of her and the dark chocolate and whiskey sound of Barton's amusement.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha plans while Clint dozes (after he's an ass first...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collab rp between littleblueartist (on tumblr) & I.
> 
> Any edit issues are my fault.

Clint finished up and leaned his face in close to her ear, "I'm gonna go swim for a while, enjoy your catnap beautiful." He murmured with a knowing grin, he had known for a long time that the only sure-fire way to get his partner to drift without the aid of sturdy medication off was a massage from him. She had fallen asleep mid-conversation with him several times when he'd been kneading the knots out of her back. It was a testament to her trust in their partnership that she let herself be so vulnerable with him and it always made him happy to watch her slip away into slumber when he massaged her.

The archer was in peak physical condition, despite a ten mile run and his fun little head-splitting adventure he still had plenty of energy to burn. He jogged out into the water, cutting through the waves and going a lot further out into the open ocean then most sane people would. Clint was terrified of the water as a boy, so he made himself become a champion swimmer to overcome it and now he felt just as at home underwater as he did up in the high places he had always preferred.

After an hour or more, the little redhead awoke. She reached behind her to retie the strings - it figures he would leave them undone – good thing she wasn't one to move much in her sleep. She flipped over, leaning back on her elbows to scan the beach and water for her partner. 

It didn't take long for her to pick him out, cavorting in the water like some kind of manic dolphin far out in the water. She shuddered. Water should be warm, bordering on too hot, not frigid. Natasha abhorred being cold. Still, he looked happy, from what she could see, and that was enough. Especially, she thought as she stretched out on the blanket, soaking up the warmth of the sand below her and the sun blazing above, if she didn't have to go in with him.

He finally came back in, emerging from the waves and flipping the excess water from his hair with a vigorous shake of his head. His dark wet suit clung to him as he bent and snatched his discarded shades off the sand put them on. It always felt good to him to push himself physically like that, and he actually felt content with himself for the moment as he approached his partner again.

Drops of water smacking her body from where the archer shook like a dog to dry himself made her gasp. "You. Why are you putting cold water on me? You know I hate being cold," she scolded. One titan eyebrow lifted in askance at his crime, but the grin on his face robbed her outrage of some of its vehemence. "I bet you are cold. Stay over there. I'm warm and comfortable. I don't need insane archers who don't know the point of going to the beach is to lie in the sun deciding to put their overgrown puppy, cold hands on me." She rolled her eyes at him, nodding for emphasis.

Clint grinned widely at Natasha's outrage at being sprayed with a few drops of chilly Atlantic ocean, a mischievous glint flaring in his sliver eyes as he pounced on the woman. He locked her down with his body, his iron grip keeping her wrists pressed firmly to the towel on either side of her head and he proceeded to nuzzle his wet head into the crook of her neck, crowing with laughter at her squeals of protest that were broken with frantic giggles as he turned his head up and started nibbling at the ticklish spot just beneath her ear. 

She was writhing beneath him, cursing at him in a mix of English and Russian, her sun warmed skin breaking out with goosebumps all over as his cool wet skin slid against hers. But it only took a moment or two of his tan muscled body pressing into her and his lips and teeth working on her neck to turn her shrieks of protest into a breathy entreating mewl. When he was reasonably sure Natasha's focus had shifted from wanting to kill him to wanting to fuck him, he released her wrists and reached down to drag her leg up to hook around his waist. He kissed her ravenously and ground his growing hardness against her center, growling low in his chest as she latched onto him and clawed at his back.

"See? I might've made you cold but I can make you hot too..." he murmured, his voice rough and his pupils blown wide with desire. Clint raised his eyebrows at the redhead, smirking at the feverish flush she was now sporting, getting up to retrieve his own towel and spreading it next to hers. Natasha clearly expected him to pick up where he'd left off, so he stretched himself out on his back on his own towel, leaving her wanting just to tease her a bit more. Her eyes were boring holes into him and he finally lifted his head, raising his shades up to peer at her directly.

"What? Didn't you just say the point of going to the beach is to lie out in the sun?" He asked with a smirk, letting his sunglasses fall back down over his sharp eyes and relaxing back again, folding his hands beneath his head and shutting his eyes. Sure he wanted to tease her more for the fun of it, but he was also giving her an out. He didn't know exactly how Natasha felt about having sex in a semi-exposed place like this, not to mention if she was having the same reservations he was considering what they were planning on getting up to that evening. 

_Really? Okay, two can play at that game_ , Natasha thought as she watched the sandy haired bastard relax back onto his towel, smirking behind his shades. Aware that he wanted her as much as she did him – he was only wearing a pair of board shorts after all.

She stretched out, making little mewling noises and sighs as she did so. She did feel really good after her backrub and nap – and the brief makeout session, even if it _was_ with a freezing cold archer. "I guess I'll get wet. I'm cold now anyway," she sighed, getting to her feet. She glanced down to her partner, noticing his eyes open behind his shades, and stretched her arms up, twining them above her head, then bonelessly bending at the waist to stretch and touch her toes before dropping her shades to the towel. She ran her fingertips up Barton's leg to his muscled thighs, "Back in a bit."

She sauntered down to the edge of the water, rolling her eyes at herself for doing this. She was perfectly capable of swimming in much colder water than this. She had done it many times, both in her early days with Red Room training, when she had been a freelancer and even with SHIELD. It just wasn’t one of her favourite things. If only the water was warm. 

To bypass her feelings, she ran forward until she could dive straight into the water, knifing into it and coming up to a straight crawl. It was cold, but at least there was some warmth from the sun. If she could keep herself in the top foot or so of the water, she could even be reasonably comfortable. After a few minutes of swimming, she stopped, flipping on her back to float, bobbing on the waves as she closed her eyes to the sun.

_Tonight_ , she thought.  _We need to do another trigger tonight._ When? She huffed, figuring out her plan. Dinner tonight, test if the trigger worked verbally or if it required a visual. She searched her memory for a good place to test this. She's rather not have to drag him to the far end of town every time they worked on him. Their suite would have to do. It interfered with her desire to spend the night having him make good on the promise of their little makeout session on the beach, but perhaps, in the interest of endorphins, that might happen before dinner.

Pleased with herself, Natasha stretched again and began slowly paddling back to shore.

Clint managed to regain his composure, calming down and even dozing a bit as the sun dried him and warmed him through. He came out of his half-sleep when he heard his partner settle down on her towel next to him. He turned his head and was grateful for his sunglasses so that his partner could be spared him devouring her wet delicious figure with his eyes like the red-blooded male he was.

The archer reached over and snatched the redhead's hand, entwining their fingers and giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Hey Nat..." He cleared his throat gently, "Thanks for this. I needed it." He admitted in a rough whisper. Clint didn't want this to end, being here with her like this. But he knew it had to.

He hauled himself upright, sighing and scratching the back of his head. He looked down at her, flashing a wry grin. "So, you ready for me to buy you some dinner?" He asked, leaning down and kissing the corner of her full pout. 

Natasha reached up, grabbing Barton's hand behind his head and pulled it to her waist as he kissed her. She wrapped her other hand around the line of his jaw. "I know you did," she murmured, pressed against him. "And yes, you can buy dinner." The redhead pulled away with a ghost of a smile, "You did _lose_ , after all."

She danced away from him as he spluttered indignant comments about Russian redheaded cheaters, laughing. Walking backwards towards the driftwood, she picked up her towel to finish drying off. "Clint, you know better. The Black Widow does not lose." She smirked, red lips curved slightly as she leaned back bracing herself. She knew what her figure did to his brain and given that she'd gone to the trouble of finding the bikini, she wanted to mess with him a little more. Call it an early reward for him before she had to hurt him.

Her eyes devoured his form, safely hidden behind her sunglasses. He was always mocking his looks; from the scars on his body to his height to the way his hair never stayed put unless there was a lot of product involved. He had no clue that his imperfections, the things he liked least about himself, were the things that drew her to him. He fit her. From the length of him being enough to surround without drowning her to the proof of his ability to survive literally carved into every inch of his body. Even his constantly messy hair begged for her fingers in it, if she had to be honest.

Her breathing developed a rougher edge and a slight flush spread across her skin as she watched him dry off. She shook her head and gathered herself again, bending her head to focus on her toes, to avoid being caught.

Clint dried himself off, gathering up their water bottles and the sunblock and stuffing everything back in the shopping bag. He looked back up to see his partner staring down at the ground, the breeze casting her fiery curls across her face. He approached her and hooked his finger under her chin, drawing her face up to meet his. Both their eyes were obscured by their sunglasses, and he was grateful for the buffer because the words he spoke were already hard enough.

"So, I guess we should order in, huh? Keep to ourselves for the night. I don't really like the idea of losing control at the hotel with the other guests there, but I don't see what choice we have. And it seemed like the walls were pretty thick. If they hear any banging around in our room tonight they'll probably just think we're going for some kind of record." He chuckled at his joke, but it sounded forced even to his own ears. 

Natasha looked up at him silently a moment longer, then to his surprise she pushed off the driftwood she had been leaning seductively on a moment ago and threw her arms around his shoulders, nuzzling her face into his neck. His heart thudded and his throat felt tight with emotion. He couldn't think of anything to say that might offer her any comfort, or himself for that matter, so he simply wrapped his arms around her petite frame and held her close.

They stood entwined for a moment till Clint finally made himself release her, bending his head and kissing her softly. "You know I love you, right?" He whispered, giving her a crooked grin and taking her hand, leading her up the beach back towards town.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha decides to relax Clint. He does not object i the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collab rp between littleblueartist (on tumblr) & I.
> 
> Any edit issues are my fault.
> 
> You might have noticed that we're slowing down from the daily updates. I'm starting to rapidly catch up to where we are real time. We're not done but your updates might be a couple days apart now....

She walked with him, her stride lengthening as his shortened to match. She slipped an arm around his waist and tucked herself into his side. Barton smelled good - salt and sun and that ever present maleness that was his alone. Natasha slipped her fingertips into the top of his trunks, resting her hand against his hip, the light touch anchoring the two of them.

Blue eyes blinked behind the darkness of her shades. She still had difficulty comprehending her partner's love for her. He had seen her slaughter remorselessly. He knew the file on her, had written sections of it. She was a trained killer and extremely good at it. That his basically sweet nature could be drawn to her was wonderful but very confusing.

She glanced at his face. She could see the tension in his jawline. He was bracing for later. Barton was always ready for a fight and this was no different. He was preparing internally. By the time dinner arrived, he would be as taut as his bowstring. That was not acceptable.

The two assassins arrived back at the inn when Natasha took the first step to the porch and turned, stopping her partner. Clint almost ran into his partner when she stopped suddenly, craning his head up to meet her gaze since she was above his eye level on the stairs. "Listen," she said softly, her hand resting over his chest, "To be clear, I love you as well. We will do later what must happen. You will buy dinner because you lost." He was about to protest that he was fine and wanted to get started right away but she kept him from uttering a word by sealing her lips to his.  "For now, however, you are going to take me upstairs and make good on your promise of horizontal and vertical surfaces. Or do I have to call you a welsher?" She smiled at him seductively as she pulled away, making him chuckle in his throat.

He shook his head and followed her inside and upstairs, trying fiercely to push down his reservations about being intimate with her considering how guilty he felt about the way she was willing and planning to use herself later to help him regain control of his mind completely.

The assassins stepped inside their suite and no sooner had Clint locked the door behind him Natasha was pressed up seamlessly against him, carding her hands through his salty hair and biting at his corded neck. A growl of want rumbled deep in his chest, his body coming to strict attention in response to her closeness. One hand slid up her bare back, the other hooking under her chin to draw her face up to his.

He kissed her, lightly at first then sweeping his tongue into her mouth as she parted her full lips for him, plundering her sweetness and enjoying the way she was trembling against him. Still, the nagging voice in the back of his head persisted. He broke their contact, panting with need for her but needing to know she wasn't just making herself do this because she cared for him and thought he needed it, like he'd needed the rest this afternoon.

His head tipped back against the door. "Fuck..." He whispered harshly, looking back down at his partner's confused, flushed face. "Nat, I don't want you to do this if it isn't what you want. I mean, I'm already taking too much from you already..." He looked down, a bitter little laugh escaping his lips. God couldn't he have just one pure, good thing in his life? Couldn't that one thing be making love to the woman who mattered more to him than anyone else in the world?

Barton's words made sense. He was locked in his head again. No matter what, every time he had a puzzle, he would retreat into his head and worry at it until he had pulled it apart and turned it inside out and examined it completely. What made him a brilliant agent also made him occasionally an angst ridden partner.

The redhead could feel his body responding to her but she could tell his brain was still disconnected from what the rest of him was doing. When he told her he didn't want to take advantage of her, Natasha bit her lip and sighed, laughing softly. "Barton, you idiot – if I didn't want you, this wouldn't happen. Ever."

She clamped her hands on the side of his head, pulling him back to lock eyes with him. "You are my partner in SHIELD, my best friend in the entire world and as of extraordinarily recently, in case you forgot, my lover who makes my body sing, my mind turn to borscht and me feel like I'm actually a whole person. You idiot - what part of 'I love you, now make love to me' ever made you think this was me being nice?"

She thumped her forehead against his chest, hard enough to knock some of the wind out of him. "You giant corn-fed idiot. Jackass. I want to climb you like a tree and you're acting like a noble nitwit who wants to save the fair maiden's virtue." She released him, storming a few steps away from him. "Idiot. Jerk. Sexiest asshole in existence."

Clint remained propped against the door listening to Natasha tick off about every variation of calling him an idiot she could think of, a half-cocked smirk across his lips at her exasperation with him. This was part of why he loved her and loved having her as his partner on and off the field. For all her subtleties and skills of manipulation that were the tools of her trade, Natasha Romanov knew when to be blunt and never pulled her punches when she was telling it like it was.

He didn't even bother trying to argue, dispute or even comment on what she'd said, knowing she was telling him the truth and finding a certain amount of comfort in her berating because it reminded him that before anything else this woman was his partner and he could trust her to have his back, even if what she was defending him from was himself.

Natasha seemed to run out of ways to call him out for being a dumbass and stalked back into his space.  "Make love to me, you American simpleton, before I show you how you take advantage of someone." She aligned her body seamlessly with his and tugging his head down to capture his lips in a wild hungry kiss.

A small corner of his mind wondered if it was entirely healthy for him to be turned on by her ranting at him, but then he remembered that he wasn't a healthy individual by any stretch of the imagination and he let go of that particular worry with a mental shrug.

Clint surrendered to the heat of her kiss, regaining his momentum from a few moments ago and gripping her fiercely, forcing her to grant him access to her mouth and plundering her sweetness. He slid his hands down her bare back and cupped her ass firmly, easily lifting her small frame and adjusting his grip as she automatically wrapped her toned legs around his hips.

"American simpleton, hmm? I'll take that as a compliment. The simplest pleasures are often the best," he said with a teasing nip to her neck. He carried her over to the small round dining table and planted her on it, reaching his arm behind her to sweep the little plastic tray holding stacks of tourist brochures and a decorative silk floral arrangement onto the floor. The marksman leaned into her, kissing her ravenously and tugging the strings of her bikini top loose, tossing away the flimsy garment and fondling her full breasts with his strong callused hands.

Clint didn't give her a chance to take a breath, trailing his lips down her jaw and scraping his teeth down the smooth column of her neck, tasting the salt of the sea on her and feeling her rapid pulse against his lips. He pushed her back onto the table, curving down over her and nipping at her sensitive collar bone as he hooked his fingers into her bikini bottoms and yanked them off her hips. Natasha tugged on his hair and he craned his head up to kiss her deeply again, unfastening his black board shorts and letting them fall off his hips as they kissed.

Clint snatched Natasha's leg and hoisted it up onto his shoulder, tugging her forward on the table towards him so their bodies aligned. He broke the kiss with a rough moan as he sheathed his throbbing shaft in her tight wet heat. His lips and chin lightly brushed against her full parted lips as he pounded into her, their mingled breath hot and ragged.

Natasha clawed at his back as he moved inside her, the sounds escaping her lips becoming louder and less coherent as he drove them both closer to the edge. Clint's silver eyes were nearly black with want as he watched his lover's face contort with pleasure; he dipped his head down and put his lips to her ear.

"I wanna feel you come beautiful..." He murmured, angling his hips so he'd hit her in just the right spot that she liked, increasing his pace and fighting hard not to lose it until he was sure his partner had forgotten her own name from her pleasure.

The redhead clung to him, pulling him in again for a kiss, wanting him completely around her. She felt like her own head was going to explode as Clint rode her hard and sure. Blue eyes gone black with need, she locked eyes with him. The man who never missed. The carnie. The man who brought her in. Partner. Best friend. Lover. The enormity of what Barton had become to her scared her to blazes. Thrilled her. Sent shivers of terror and joy and when he spoke to her, she felt herself shattering, panting his name. Her leg locked his pelvis to her as she rode out her orgasm.

"Oh good. He can listen," she panted with a satisfied smirk, "That was one." She looked around the room, tongue sneaking out to lick her lips. She grinned as she spied what she wanted, then pushed Barton up off her. He groaned as he slipped out of her wet heat, gasping as her slim fingers circled and grasped his penis and pulled him with the same gentle authority she did most things over to one of the bay windows. 

Clint exhaled roughly as his redheaded partner sat him down on the little window seat, a tiny corner of his mind realizing he hadn't even bothered to check if the curtains were drawn when they started this little party on the table. Natasha had a way of making him forget the world around him for sure. Fortunately they were closed, even more fortunate now considering where he was sitting and what was happening.

She sank between his legs, eyes locked, daring him to look away as she lowered her head and took him in her mouth. Natasha knelt between his knees and started licking him like a popsicle, drawing rough groans and growls from his chest as she teased him with her warm wet tongue. The long wet licks had him wanting to close his eyes – hell, to roll them back in his head – but Clint could feel the grin on her face and forced himself to keep his eyes trained on her.  His long knobby fingers swept into her curls, holding them back from her face so he could watch her plump ruby lips glide up and down his throbbing length. He felt his pleasure building rapidly and it was all he could do not to thrust up into her.

"Fuck, Nat you've gotta stop..." He panted, gently pulling her head back and off of him before he lost it. His lower back muscles tightened and he felt a little kick in his gut as he held off his release, but he didn't want to come quite yet. "That feels too good, and this is supposed to be about making you scream, remember?" He murmured around ragged breaths as he hoisted her up into his lap and kissed her ravenously.

Her partner devouring her mouth made gorgeous shivers run up and down Natasha's back. "Where to next, beautiful?" He asked against her lips with a devilish chuckle. A lazy smile crept over her face. "I seem to recall, Mister Barton, this was your promise to uphold. You are the one always talking about American ingenuity." She glanced down his chest to his arousal prodding her from below and back up to him, smirk firmly in place. "Time to put up or shut up, Hawkeye." A breathless chuckle escaped his lips at her comment that fractured into a growl when she bit at his neck.

Natasha leaned in to kiss him again, lips sliding down the corded muscles of his neck to nip at his pulse point before sliding back up to his ear and murmuring, "Or is that going to be a problem?" He raised his eyebrows, and shrugged his broad shoulders, making a show of considering where he might take them next.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparatory endorphins continue. ;-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collab rp between littleblueartist (on tumblr) & I.
> 
> Any edit issues are my fault.

"Well we've covered plenty of horizontal surfaces; I think it's time to switch it up." He flashed a wolfish grin at her, nuzzling into the crook of her neck and returning the favor by nibbling at the smooth column of her throat. Gripping her tightly he stood up, exclamations of want slipping from both of them as Natasha wrapped herself around him grinding her slick center against his erection.

The archer carried his lover into the kitchenette, bracing her back against the smooth surface of the refrigerator door. She gasped sharply as her bare skin was pressed to the cool stainless steel surface, but it melted into a delicious moan as he buried himself to the hilt in her slick heat. Clint dragged his teeth across her collarbone and back up her throat, craning his head up to capture her lips in a demanding kiss as he pinned her tight to the fridge and thrust into her hard and fast.

Natasha clawed at his shoulders as he took her, breaking their kiss when her head tipped back against the fridge door and cries of pleasure escaped her with every ragged exhalation. Clint felt her walls clenching around him as she found her peak again and it was too much for him to hold back anymore. He growled her name as he came deep inside her, rolling his hips into her until he was completely spent trying to prolong her pleasure as long as possible. He slowly eased her to the floor, laughing a little through his rough breathing at the fogged outline on the fridge door from the heat of Natasha's body.

The redhead slackened against him, struggling to draw an even breath and he tipped her chin up to steal what was left of her breath with a toe-curling kiss. "Seems like someone enjoyed herself that time." He winked at her, nudging her nose with his. 

"Not bad for an old man," Natasha drawled with a satisfied smirk on her face. She struggled for her normal cool demeanor, but between the brain shattering orgasm and his kisses, the redhead was having trouble. If she wanted to keep up this little competition she was enjoying, she was going to have to up her game with her partner.

Clint uttered a short bark of laughter at her 'old man' comment, letting her him back into the sitting area and tug him down to kneel between her legs as she gracefully settled herself on the leather chair in the corner. Her hand reached up to stroke lightly through his hair, almost shyly. It trailed down the side of his face, thumb brushing his lip. Her blue eyes softened as she stared into his storm grey ones. She wanted to play with him because he was one of the few people she could truly play with, but her affection for him was enough to terrify and thrill her. 

He grinned up at her, but the mischief left his eyes as Natasha gently touched his face, pulling him in for a kiss. The kiss slid between sweet and slow to passionate and needy as her exploration of his mouth rekindled her desire for him. But it wasn't just a kiss. Natasha Romanov was one of the few people on the planet that had an even harder time than Clint did expressing her true feelings, but thankfully this new layer to their relationship had given them a new outlet to tell each other without words how they felt for each other. She kissed him with everything she had, and through that physical contact point all her love, all her worry, flowed into him and it made him never want to break away from her.

She held his face in her hands, thumbs brushing his lips as hers quirked up slightly, her sense of humour saving her from being too serious. She adored the sandy haired man in front of her but she was in danger of becoming maudlin. Fortunately, there was salvation in the banter that Clint himself had worked hard to develop in her. "Think you have the energy to rock my world again, archer-boy?" she quipped, scarlet eyebrow arched mischievously.

A dozen smart ass rebuttals sprang to his mind, but what she had given him in that kiss demanded he bite his tongue on sarcastic quips for the moment.

"Natasha..." He murmured her name, his voice rough and low. He cupped her face and ran his thumb over her cheekbone, his silver eyes piercing her and stripping away the barrier she had elected to put up rather than process the emotions that had surfaced without her leave. The archer came up off his heels, leaning into her and angling his head to kiss her fervently. His hands slid down her curves and gently tugged her hips forward, positioning her on the edge of the leather cushion so he could open her up and start teasing her clit ever so lightly with his callused thumb.

He demanded entrance to her mouth with his tongue, simultaneously pressing one long knobby digit inside her, stroking her walls and continuing with slow circles with his thumb on her most sensitive spot. Clint let his lips trail down her jaw to her throat, biting and sucking and working ever lower as his hand continued working her.

He added another finger and quickened his pace, listening to the hitch of her breathing and feeling her walls flutter against his fingers as her pleasure rose. He nipped at her full breasts and made a line of kisses down the plane of her stomach. He worshiped her body with his mouth and hands, glancing up at her before replacing his thumb with his tongue on her tingling clit and humming with satisfaction as he took in the flush across her face and the way her eyes had gone glassy with pleasure.

He pumped his fingers in and out of her tight core, using his tongue to put her through the most delicious form of torture he knew of. Natasha was shaking and panting in the chair, one of her hands twisting into his hair and holding on for dear life as she shattered beneath him. He drew out her orgasm and felt a surge of satisfaction from pleasing the woman he loved this way. He lifted his head and slid his fingers out of her, leaning up again to softly press his lips to the corner of her mouth. "Always, love. As many times as you want, because I'm just for you, no one else." He murmured, smiling as he stared into her blue orbs.

Kissing him as she came down from her release, her eyes fluttered shut. She wanted his words to be true but too much of her heart was still guarded by the damage that the Red Room had done, training her to be a killing machine. She wanted so much but the pain of letting herself believe and be wrong was something she could barely think about.

She opened her eyes, staring into his grey eyes, pupils still wide. They were surprisingly soft - her archer normally had eyes that could be used to chisel away at the hardest problem - diamond hard and all-seeing. She was so used to his eyes being the strongest part of him. Now they were soft. They were gentle. They were full of the adoration he had for her. Truly, just for her? Her brow furrowed slightly as she contemplated this impossibility. That he had desired her was never a question. That he loved her was something she was still getting used to.

Her hand reached up to stroke his face, thumb brushing his lips. She blinked, desperately trying to regain some kind of self-control. How did this man so completely undo her? She drew him back in to kiss, murmuring against his lips before sealing him to her, "I love you. And as many times as you are able, I'll respond. I am for you as you are for me. This time I'm asking - make love to me, Clint?"

Clint almost felt more than heard her quiet words, grinning against her lips as she kissed him deeply. The game was over, at least for now. Both of them had won. He matched the passion of her kiss and wrapped one corded arm around her shoulders and hooked the other into the crook of her knees, scooping her up out of the chair and carrying her back to the bedroom.

The marksman laid his partner on the bed, smiling down at her as she trailed her hands down his muscled chest and let them rest on his hips, tugging on him trying to draw him closer. He settled over top of her and she wrapped her legs around his waist, his weight pressed her down into the mattress and it became difficult to tell where one of them ended and the other began. 

"Tell me what you need beautiful..." Clint whispered, running the tip of his tongue along her sensitive collarbone and up to her neck, biting at her porcelain skin and dragging his teeth up to the ticklish spot just below her ear. 

"Kiss me," Natasha panted, her nails digging into his back when he started grinding his hardness against her still wet entrance. Clint craned his head up and sealed his lips to hers, plundering her mouth and swallowing her deep moan as he connected their bodies. He thrust into her slow and deep, his lower back muscles bunching and rolling under her splayed hands. They came up for air after a long moment and Clint's silver eyes flickered between her blue ones, his breath warm and ragged against her moist lips as he moved inside her.

"You are everything I need Tasha, everything I want. God I love you..." He murmured, kissing her lips lightly and groaning roughly as he neared his peak, angling his hips the way he knew she liked so that she could fall over the edge with him. Clint felt his partner's legs tense around him and her most feminine muscles clamp around his throbbing length, milking him dry as she came with a shuddering cry beneath him.

The archer slipped out of her heat and kissed her languidly, enjoying feeling her go boneless against him as she came down from their shared high. Clint collapsed on his side next to her, tugging her petite form against his sweat dampened frame and kissing her dewy brow. 

Natasha felt almost drunk. Her world had dwindled to the man lying next to her, strong arm holding her close to him, knobby fingers playing with her red curls and gazing at her with such adoration she could hardly breathe. None of this made sense. They had been enemies, then partners, then friends and now this. If she believed such nonsense, she would say he was her other half – her destiny.

Rolling on her side, one leg entwined between his, she traced the lines of his face with her fingertips. The shell of his ear that led to the line of his jaw. That little bit of scruff that said it had been too long since he had last shaved – perhaps she would do that for him later – the intimacy of it felt right. The curve of his lips from the bow that made them seem so full and made her want to kiss him softly to the edges where his smirk seemed to live – the one she always wanted to kiss off, hard and fast until he couldn't breathe. His nose, broad, strong and just a little imperfect. Clint watched with a mixture of amusement and bliss as Natasha's blue orbs danced over his every feature, like she was memorizing each detail of his face.

She shifted and he rolled to his back so she could sprawl atop him, humming softly in his throat as she kissed him long and deep. Her exploration of his face had brought that smirk she loved so well out, so she gave in to her desire and kissed him, holding his head in place as she did – eyes wide and staring into his silver grey gaze.

They broke apart to gasp helplessly for breath, and he felt the light brush of her warm lips on each of his eyelids from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. It was a small gesture, but the intimacy of it was deep enough to drown in and he was glad to lose himself in it.  Her fingers toyed with the chest hair she found slightly matted there as she whispered, "I love you. Please forgive me but I love you."

Her quiet words prompted him to wrap his strong arms around her petite frame, closing her in against him safe and secure. He craned his head down and kissed the top of her hair. "Only if you'll return the favor," he responded, grinning warmly at her when she tipped her head back to meet his silver gaze. He drew one hand up her bare back to cup her face, his callused thumb running over her ruby pout that was curved up at the corners in a small, knowing smile. She kissed his thumb and settled her head back against his chest, a small sigh of contentment escaping her that he answered in turn.

The pair lay tangled skin to skin for a long while, not speaking, just soaking each other in. They had never needed many words to understand one another really. Clint was drifting somewhere between wakefulness and a dream, though between the two for once reality was sweeter.

Suddenly a small growling noise broke the quiet and Clint chuckled, raising his eyebrows in mock ignorance when the little redhead atop him raised her head and shot him a look that was a strange mix of fondness and exasperation. "What's with the look? I kind of think I earned the right to be hungry to be honest..." He winked at her, sitting up and shifting her in his lap as he moved, snatching her chin and sealing his mouth to hers. The archer kissed his partner deep and slow till she was purring in his arms, gently releasing her and searching her flushed face.

"Come on. I owe you dinner, then... I think it's time to get this show on the road," he said with a crooked grin that didn't quite quell the sadness in his silver eyes. Not sadness for himself, but for his partner. He knew this was going to be just as hard on her as it would be on him. Natasha sat up off his chest and he stretched languidly.

"What sounds good? I'm thinking good, honest and greasy. And there needs to be cold beer involved." He ticked off his own criteria, realizing after he said it that it sounded a little too much like a last meal request. He glanced up at Natasha's eyes, running a hand backwards through his sandy hair. He grinned at her, leaning forward to press his brow against hers trying to chase the shadows out of her lovely eyes.

"Hey come on, aren't you going to call me a slovenly American pig or something? You know what that does to me." He winked at her again, craning his chin forward and pecking her lips, finally winning a small but genuine chuckle from her.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint & Tasha stall and steel themselves before they mess with his head on purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collab rp between littleblueartist (on tumblr) & I.
> 
> Any edit issues are my fault.
> 
> Fair warning - next episode will likely be triggery for some folks.

"Slovenly American pig," Natasha says, rolling her eyes and drawling the phrase with the strongest cheesy Russian accent she can muster. She sounds like something out of that cartoon Barton watches occasionally. Cocking her head to the side, she considers his request. "That sounds like takeout pizza and a six pack of beer for you. I think I'll pass on the beer. There must be a place that can sell me decent vodka."

She picks up the phone, calling down to the front desk and chats briefly with them, explaining what she's looking for. Her voice is animated, but the part that he enjoys most is watching the dichotomy of her bubbly voice and the eye roll and bored expression that she shoots at him as she explains the fictional second honeymoon they're on to the staff and how delightful she finds the town but "they just want a quiet night in..." Then she giggles – like an overgrown schoolgirl. He's heard her do it a thousand times but every time it blows him away how she can sound so much like one thing and look so much like another.

She catches him watching her. Her eyes soften and the blue seems to almost glow. Little hints of red flush over her face, the top of her chest and, yeah, even the tips of her ears. The archer looked at her with a quizzical look on his face, but she shook her head and then finished up her conversation with the front desk and hung up.

"Pizza will be here in 40 minutes. Best place to buy your beer is a 10 minute walk. Put some pants on and let's go for a quick walk." She uncurls from sitting, wandering over to the table and grabbing his pants, tossing them to him. She bends over to pick up the discarded bikini, skinning into the shorts, and then grabbing one of his t-shirts to pull over the top. When he looks at her, she shrugs. He looks pointedly at the shirt and back up to her eyes. A small smile touched her lips as she shrugs again and grabs the bottom of the shirt, twisting it into a knot, showing off a sliver of her belly. "Ready, Barton?"

Clint nodded and grabbed his dark cargo pants off the floor and tugged them on along with a sleeveless black t-shirt, shoving his feet into his boots. "Yeah, hang on." He responded, grabbing his watch off the bedside table and bracing his arm on his thigh to fasten the band around his left wrist.

The little redhead approached him and batted his hand away, tugging his arm up and neatly securing the watch on his wrist. She gave him a little grin that he returned, and he twined his knobby fingers with hers and they left the room together.

The sun was just starting to set and a warm evening breeze that smelled like summer and the sea kept them company the whole walk through town till they got to the little liquor store across from the only gas station in town set up at the end of the road that eventually wound its way back to the highway. They found a six pack for him and a small bottle of domestic vodka that "would do" for Natasha. 

On the walk back the pair of assassins stopped to watch some young kids setting off some leftover Fourth of July fireworks in the street, cheering at as the multi-colored sparks flew in the waning light. Two young girls waved dazzling sparklers in each hand, laughing and dancing around with their glittering, crackling wands.

"It's crazy isn't it," Clint commented, a wry grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. "All of this came so close to just being...gone. But here they are." He shook his head, chuckling a little in his throat. He looked down at his partner, the sadness in his eyes warmed by the thought that while he felt responsible for much of his world's recent peril, he also felt he had helped save it too.

Natasha looked at her partner. His eyes were stormy but she felt that he was better centered than he had been that morning. He was able to see how he had helped make things better, could see the black in his ledger, not just the red. She reached up and cupped his chin, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "Everything is always close to being gone. What makes things precious is appreciating them when you can."

The redhead turned back to the children playing, tucking herself in front of Barton, and wrapping his arms around her waist, their bag with their drinks hanging from his hand brushing her knees. "What is it you once said about the military and sleep? Take what you can, when you can, how you can, and worry about the rest later? It’s the same thing with happiness, Clint. You taught me to grab what joy I can in the moment." She twisted in his arms to kiss his jaw again, "Come on, Barton. Dinner will be ready soon."

Leading him by their linked hands, the two assassins walked back to the inn, each quiet and within their own head. Natasha periodically glanced at Clint through the corner of her eye, watching for each shift in his expression – the smile for people passing by, the twinge across his brow as something occurred to him, the deep breath that expanded his already impressive torso that he would silently release as he went through some exercise to center himself.

She did much the same thing, mentally going over how to next trigger the flash in Barton. She needed him as centered and calm as possible – the beer would assist with that – the depressive effect on his adrenal system would calm him prior to the trigger. Pizza, while not the best choice, was a comfort food for him. She would accept eating something less than healthy to give him the best possible chance to beat this. 

She untangled her fingers from his, snaking her arm around his waist and anchoring her fingers in the band of his pants. When he looked down at her in askance, she just tucked her head against him, gently bumping him in the side. A smirk grew on his face and he started to ask a question, but her finger over his lips stopped him. Once again at the inn, Natasha kissed her brawny partner and nodded at him with the look he had seen a thousand times through a sniper scope – the one that said, “Trust me. I've got this."

Clint sighed as Natasha backed out of his embrace, following her inside toting their purchases from the liquor store. He trusted his partner implicitly; it was himself he couldn't rely on. What they had to do tonight was becoming real in his head and it gave him a cold, tense feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Their pizza arrived and Clint paid the man, giving him a generous tip and locking the door after the man left. The pair of assassins settled in with their food, Natasha stretched out on the sofa and Clint sitting on the floor with his back against the couch by her head. He tore into the pizza and tried to ignore the building tightness in his shoulders as they ate and talked about nothing in particular.

The marksman worked his way through his beer, it would take more than one six pack of bottles to get him drunk but at least the buzz helped take the edge off his tension. He gazed up at his partner who was nursing her vodka, her blue eyes far away. His heart clenched. She certainly wasn't looking forward to this any more than he was.

He reached up and gently brushed her arm with the back of his knuckles. "Natasha..." he murmured, fixing his gaze on her pale shoulder because it was too hard to say the words he needed to say while looking her in the eye, "It isn't too late to say no, you know. You don't have to do this for me." He hated that he had dragged her into his shit, making her take on his burden with him. Just because she was ready and willing to go after him into the dark didn't mean that he should let her. Maybe he should just turn himself over to SHIELD.... The thought made him sick, but the thought of hurting his lover made him even sicker.

The little redhead swung her legs off the couch to sit next to Clint’s head, her own bent as she considered his words and the weight they carried. She turned to examine him, his heart so clear on his face that she felt slightly guilty for how much this bothered him. She knew that this was the smartest way to handle this. That he didn’t understand that might be a failure on her part to communicate. Or, she thought, there was a chance her partner might just be stubborn enough that he just wasn’t getting it – time to do something about that.

Sliding off the couch, Natasha moved the plate with the remains of Barton’s pizza and placed it on the coffee table. She grabbed his beer from his hands and placed it and her glass of vodka next to it. Then she turned and straddled his legs, perching her bottom on his strong thighs before she cradled his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her eyes. “Clint, you’re right. I don’t have to do this. I _want_ to do this. I need to do this. I need my _partner_ back. I love you and the sex is incredible but I _need_ my partner back, so I am doing this and so are you.”

Clint's fists clenched as he considered the cold reality of Natasha's words, letting them sink in. The simple fact was he was still compromised, and she couldn't count on him in the field if he stayed like this. They were going to do their damndest to fix this on their own, and when it came right down to it... 

She had made him a promise.

She kissed him, hard, once, wrapping her arms around his neck, letting all the affection she knew how to express come through that kiss. His clenched fists relaxed a bit, feeling the depth of her love for him in her touch gave him something to hold on to, and he needed it because he knew what was coming next. Hardening her heart, she leaned into his ear and whispered to him, softly, “New York. The Chitauri. Loki.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is swallowed up by the lingering forces of the Tesseract and Natasha tries to help him help himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collab rp between littleblueartist (on tumblr) & I.
> 
> Any edit issues are my fault.
> 
> Fair warning - this is going to be a trigger for some folks, this chapter is going to start a rougher chunk. Clint’s issues with the leftover mess in his head is going to get very nasty.

Clint called up the images of the Midtown fight as she prompted him, remembering the acrid smell of the smoke, hearing the screams of frightened civilians being drowned out by the monstrous roaring of the Chitauri invaders. He felt the now too familiar sensation of searing agony starting in the back of his brain but now instead of resisting it he dove into it headfirst.

His body locked up, a feral growl escaping his lips as the pain whitewashed his conscious mind and anger welled up inside him, anger towards Loki, but even more towards himself for what he had done under the Tesseract's thrall. His vision blurred and the world fell away, but he didn't try to swim back to the surface. He let it close over his head, though every instinct was screaming at him not to let go.

Watching his eyes fog over, Natasha watched her partner closely. She locked her ankles around his waist, listening to him growl, pain radiating from him as the attack struck. Based on her previous observations, he wasn’t fighting this one. Good. For her theory to work, he would have to let it subsume him and rebuild who he was from the inside out.

Now for her part – she leaned back into him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck and gently bit down on the cord of muscle she found there. The little redhead laved it with her tongue, soothing the spot and called to him again, this time telling him to come back to her. Breasts pressed tight against him as she held herself to his torso, she traced the shell of his ear, the line of his jaw and the seam of his mouth with her tongue, all the while exhorting him to find his way back to her – to conquer the hold that Loki left in his mind and return to her arms.

Clint felt like he had been plucked out of his own head, just like the first time his mind had been taken over by the Tesseract's searing energy, giving in to the flash now was causing the same unsettling disconnect between his brain and his body. Wrapped in a cocoon of pain, he struggled to focus on the warm presence of his partner against him, but even that was slipping away from him like so many grains of sand in an overturned hourglass.

Clint's world was reduced to agony. Agony and anger – his silvery eyes burned the brilliant unnatural blue of the Tesseract, his vision clarifying now that he wasn't fighting the hold the cube still had over him. The color in the room was dialed up to eleven, and every tiny sound and sensation was magnified in his current state. He could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock against the opposite wall, could feel every exhalation of breath of the redhead straddling his lap searing his skin. 

Without his conscious mind putting up a fight, instinct took over. His pain became secondary, and the line between anger and desire blurred as the woman bit down on his neck and made a searing trail with her warm wet tongue over his ear, jaw and finally finding his lips. A deep, raw growl rumbled in his chest and his hands clamped around her upper arms, hard enough to bruise. There was no rational thought, only his pain, his hunger, and this woman on top of him that could quell at least the latter if not the former. 

He took control of the kiss, claiming her mouth and surging forward, twisting their upper bodies sideways and slamming his prey on the floor, his hands gliding up her arms to lock her wrists down above her head with one hand. The creature of instinct Clint had become still had the memory of his conscious mind to draw from, and he extracted the wickedly sharp switchblade from beneath the couch cushion he had stashed there their first night at the hotel.

He flicked it open and trapped one leg with hers to keep her pinned, breaking their kiss and fixing her with a predatory stare as he slid the cold steel up the smooth plane of her belly, slicing her t-shirt open and devouring her flesh with his sharp blue gaze. He wanted her, wanted to make her scream, from pleasure or pain whichever came first. A devilish grin distorted his features and the knife traveled lower, cutting open the small shorts she was wearing and exposing her body to him completely. 

Natasha watched Clint as he hazed over – as she watched the humanity in his eyes slide away. His kiss went brutal, far more territorial than he had been in any encounter they had so far. She was honest enough with herself that if he wasn’t in the kind of pain and danger he was in, she would welcome this aspect of him. However, now was not the time for thinking in the future. Now was for the present.

 _Interesting_ , she thought, _his memory for spatial details is still intact. So his mind is still in there. Consistent with my earlier theory that despite whatever else is overlaid, Barton’s still there._ The knife sliced through her clothing. Looking at his expression, she realised what he needed was her voice. The feral, hungry look spoke volumes to her of possession and ownership. Of a need to have prey that acknowledged his dominance. In the space of a blink, the spy knew what she had to do.

She forced a shiver, the apples of her cheeks blooming with a cherry hue as she twitched beneath him. “Clint…what are you doing? You’re my partner, not a monster,” her voice was husky as she let just enough fear through to appeal to whatever was running him right now. She needed to be able to talk to that part of Barton that was still alive and active in his head – he had only cut her clothing, much like he only shot Fury in his Kevlar – and if she had to talk through the effects of the Tesseract, all she could hope for is that her _partner_ knew what she was doing.

The sound of his name falling from her lips tugged at the rational corner of his mind, but when Clint tried to respond to it, the skull splitting pain forced any lucidity back into hiding.  
  
"Shut up. You don't know a fucking thing about me." He growled in a voice that was both rough with want and sharp with anger. He craned his head down and kissed her ravenously, bloodying her lip with his teeth but the metallic taste only seemed to rile him further. He ground his hips into hers, his bulge rubbing her clit hard. 

He broke the kiss and arched back off of her, pressing his blade to the inside of her creamy thigh right along her femoral artery, warning her with a glare not to make a move. "Do you know how often I've dreamed of fucking you like this, Tasha? How many times I've jerked off imagining you begging me to fuck your brains out? Do you know how many worthless cunts I've fucked the lining out of picturing it was you instead? You have no fucking idea the kind of monster I am." He used his free hand to flick his pants open and free his throbbing length, curving down over her again.

"I'm tired of being the loyal dog at your heels. I'm sick of being kicked while I'm down and everyone in my life taking what they want out of my ass. I'm fucking done putting aside what I fucking want and that starts with you." His tone was quiet, deadly serious and so full of self-loathing that for a moment he almost gave in to the impulse to sever her artery and take the blade to his own throat, but the last shreds of his sanity won out. Silver flickered in his eyes for half a heartbeat but then it was gone again. Clint's muscled arm cocked back and he slammed the blade nearly an inch deep into the hardwood floor less than the width of a pinky finger away from Natasha's pale throat.

He grabbed her wrists when she jolted beneath him, pinning them at either side of her head and grinding his throbbing erection against her, a feral moan escaping his throat. "Tell me you want this. Beg for it. Now!" he commanded, locking down her gaze as much as he had her wrists with his ethereal blue eyes.

Natasha blinked. She needed to navigate quickly but very carefully, because this time the mark was her own partner – at least that part of him still controlled by the Tesseract – and her backup was her partner, locked inside his own head in a world of pain. A groan slipped her lips, as if it had been torn from her and she canted her hips against him a few inches. She turned her head away from his gaze and the knife next to her, eyes downcast as she increased her breathing slightly to mimic the pant of fear. She had to give the angry man on her what he demanded for now but she would keep trying to reach her partner. They were going to have a _very_ long talk when this was all over about the things he’d said – about not telling his partner things she should have known.

“Clint, please. You’ve never been like this. I’m broken. I was never what you wanted. I have always wanted you. Any way you would take me but you _never_ wanted me. I’m…I’m the monster, Clint…” her voice trailed off as she turned back to face him, licking her parted, bleeding lips and rolling herself against his length, “…if you want me, take me. I’m helpless and I want you with me so badly.”

The little redhead mentally crossed her fingers that her partner could hear her through all the layers of bullshit she put into this. If he could read her facial expressions from half a block away through a sniper scope, hopefully he was there still and the flashes of him that she caught could become longer.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you smash the walls, sometimes the debris flattens you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collab rp between littleblueartist (on tumblr) & I.
> 
> Any edit issues are my fault.
> 
> Okay - this is the end. We're still triggery. Depending on the perspective of the characters (and your own) there's some nasty shit that happens in this chapter. It also is the end (for now). Littleblue and I are working on "where do we go from here", so those of you who have been following along, don't worry. This isn't the last time. (Hell, we're having way too much fun writing this so that wasn't going to be an issue).
> 
> Thank you to those who showed up for the ride. This was entirely an experiment on our part to see if we would have fun doing a collaborative RP together and the answer is a resounding yes. I hope you've had as much fun as we have had writing it. And again - we love them too and promise we'll get them out of this.

Clint felt like he was hearing Natasha's voice from underwater, except instead of water pressing down on him it was pain. He was screaming inside his own head, trying to break the surface of the agony he was in. Not only for his own sake, but for hers – he had to reach her somehow, but he was so damn angry and it hurt so much to think.

The archer grimaced, his powerful hands flexing around her slender wrists as he struggled to sort out the chaos of rage and hurt in his head. She was grinding herself against him, and it made the animal instinct currently in the driver's seat of his mind decide he had better things to do than think anyway.

He thrust into her tight heat, groaning with feral pleasure and craning his head down to bite at her smooth neck and shoulder possessively. Clint was nearly blinded by the fireworks going off in his skull, he knew he had to stop this, but every nerve that wasn't on fire with agony was alight with pleasure as he took her and he only pounded into her harder.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched him briefly fight to understand. Barton was still in there alright and starting to fight his way to the surface.  She gasped as he pushed into her.  It was time to try to pull some of the Pavlovian switch on him that she had hypothesized would work.  Wrapping her legs around his ass, she rhythmically bore down on him, clenching and releasing her internal muscles, using all the skills she had developed in the Red Room to draw his pleasure fast and hard.

She tipped her head back, exposing her throat to his voracious mouth and ground out his name in a long moan. “Clint…Christ, Clint…please…please let me up. Come on – we can do this on something more than the floor,” she begged while mock-pulling at her wrists, giving him the opportunity to feel he had completely overpowered her. _Her_ Barton would remember – this was them after all – he had never been able to pin her without her consent like this.  There were too many ways to get out and while he was a sniper, close combat was her specialty.

The creature that was riding his brain now hopefully did not have access to everything he knew about her. This was going to be an interesting challenge.  Playing a man who knew more about her than anyone in the world would take every skill she had, even if he was driven by pain and more than a touch of insanity.

The archer's head snapped back up at her fevered words, a nasty sneer contorting his features. He angled his hips and met her matched her movements unconsciously, their bodies falling into a rough, primal rhythm. 

" _We_? Since when has this ever been about _we_?" Barton growled, his left hand releasing her wrist and twisting into her fiery curls faster than thought. He fisted her hair and yanked her neck hard towards the blade embedded in the floorboards, pressing her jugular right against the razor sharp edge. 

"There has never been a 'we' with us, has there, Natasha? I hunted you down and I dragged your ass back with me. I didn't just choose not to kill you; I gave you a brand new fucking life. And what did I get for it? Permanent babysitting duty – years of watching your six, keeping the path clear, cleaning up your fuck-ups and never once asking for a goddamn thing in return. I wanted you, wanted to kill every fucker you took to your bed for work or for pleasure." He grunted as the pleasure rose in the pit of his stomach and he thrust into her faster, pressing her neck against the edge of the knife just enough to draw blood, a thin line of crimson slid down her skin to the floor.

_Dammit_ , Natasha thought as she felt the blade kiss her throat and the warm wetness dribble down her neck.  She had lost her edge if she was dumb enough to talk that openly to Barton that she’d forgotten the monster between them.  She couldn’t edge away from the knife without tipping her hand and if Barton pushed any further, this would be over very quickly.  She might not even manage to get out period – any wiggle at all and her throat would slit like a chicken on the line.  She had to think fast before he slaughtered her without being aware of it.

"You say you always wanted me any way I would take you? That's bullshit. You took everything you wanted from me and pretended the rest didn't exist. I'm just one of your weapons, your playthings; and once I'm no longer useful you'll discard me. That's all I'm cut out for. People use me up and throw me out. It won't be any different with you." He growled, and despite the rage making his blue orbs livid, tears were welling up at the creased corners of his eyes.

His tears grabbed her attention.  Could she use this? Could she focus him enough – focus his rage enough to crack through the madness? Could she do what she was thinking, _say_ what she was thinking, to get him to break through? It would both madden him and possibly hurt him in ways she never intended. Wrapping the Russian winters of her childhood around her heart, she turned to him and said, as evenly as she could, “You’re right.  You have no control, Barton.  You claim to be the world’s greatest marksman, but when it came down to it, you didn’t have the balls to kill me.  You are a tool, first Fury’s, then mine, now Loki’s.  And when he’s done with you, he’ll have you slit your own throat.  I might as well enjoy your body while I can, because unless you can find a way through this idiocy, there’s nothing to you more than a primitive tool, no better than your bow.”

It was a testament to how much Clint loved Natasha that her cruel words cut him so deep even drunk as he was with rage and madness from the cube's lingering energy. Right on the cusp of coming undone, a ragged scream clawed its way out from deep in his chest and he slammed into her deep and rough, tears brimming over his lashes and dripping off his sweaty cheeks onto the redhead's flushed face.

"Fuck you! Fuck all of you! Fuck Loki and the stupid fucking bitch that didn't drown him when he was born! I am NOT his tool and I am done letting him fuck with my head!" Clint yelled; his face red and the veins along his neck and temples standing out from exertion and distress. The archer took a chair to the mental walls of agony and hatred surrounding him, shattering them like paper thin glass. The barrier keeping him from controlling his mind and body came crashing down his senses were whitewashed with pure, blinding pain.

The otherworldly blue flickered and went out, leaving only his tortured gunmetal gray eyes staring down into Natasha's bottomless blue gaze. In the same instant her most feminine walls clamped and fluttered around him and he came deep inside her, screaming again with a little less anger and a little more desperation. 

Clint used every shred of strength he had left to tear himself away from his partner, he tried to get up but a wave of dizziness struck him full-force and he faltered, collapsing in a sweaty, broken heap a few feet away from the redhead laying open and trembling on the floor. 

She pulled herself gingerly up on her elbows, body sore from the brutal use she had just put it to and looked at her archer.  A hand slapped over the wound at her neck but more than its sting or the ache between her legs, her heart broke as she looked at him, tears running down his face and devastated. She opened her mouth to say soothing words to him – to let him know that it was all a trick, to help pull him out of the control but she found she could not.  All the accusations he had hurled at her – that she would use him and that she never let him into her heart before – they were all true. She wanted nothing more than to wrap herself around him and tell him she would never let him go but she had to be honest with herself. What kind of monster would take the one thing she knew he feared more than anything – his fear of being abandoned by those he loved because Barton was a testament to his ability to survive physical horrors and destruction – what kind of monster would do what she had done to him?

Tears silently spilling down her face, she choked out a whisper, “I’m sorry. I hope it worked,” before she pulled the knife from where it still stood embedded in the floor and got to her feet.  She flipped the knife closed, placing it on a nearby table as she padded towards the bathroom, fingers still clamped to the side of her neck. Her heart clenched tight as she passed the messy pile of clothes that was her partner’s duffle bag.  She paused as she got to the door of the washroom, not having the strength or the courage to face him. “Clint?” The pause grew longer as she found herself fighting for words for one of the few times in her life. “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done but this.  Giving you something, even if it is your hatred of me, that lets you break his hold forever? I can’t be sorry for that.” Her voice broke as she turned, failing herself again and looking over at the broken archer with blue eyes swimming in tears as she fought to regain her composure. “I love you and I wasn’t lying earlier.  I am the monster and I have always loved you.”

She turned back to the open doorway, “I’m going to clean myself up and then I’ll get out of here. I will contact Fury and tell him that Strike Team Delta is dead.”

Clint was dimly aware of the redhead getting up and crossing the room, he heard her voice and the raw pain in it, but he could hardly see straight let alone move or form any kind of coherent response. He picked up the note of finality in her voice as she told him she was leaving and it pressed on his heart like a lead weight. Natasha was doing what she did best when someone or something forced her hand, yanking her walls back up and ducking out.

Normally he would stop her from retreating, offering either comfort or threats depending on what she needed to get her through her worst fear: acknowledging that she was in fact human. It scared her more to think that she was a real person with real emotions than the monster she always claimed to be. Long before they became lovers he had helped her through these dark moments.

But this time...this time he was the dark moment. How could he ask her to stay after what he'd put her through? Christ, just things he'd said to her alone...all his same old fears and doubts he thought he'd put six feet under long ago had been exhumed and twisted with otherworldly rage into a hammer, dashing the precious new bond between them to pieces. 

What could he do, hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay? He had absolutely no right to say that to her when just moments ago he'd violated her body and her trust. Maybe she'd given him the means to break Loki's lingering hold over him, but at what cost? He'd nearly killed her again. It made his skin crawl picturing his own hand forcing her pale flesh against his knife, made him want to retch knowing that it had made him harder to watch the blood trickle down her throat, getting his kicks from holding her life in his hands. 

Clint used to think since everyone he loved either abused or abandoned him that made him some kind of victim; that he was cursed or maybe he was just really good at hitching his wagon to the wrong horse. But...it turned out that was just the natural order, and he had fucked with it. He actually managed to find someone who loved him, who he loved so much he knew he would never be whole again without her, and the universe decided to show him he wasn't meant to have that by arranging for him to rape and nearly kill her with his own hands. Message fucking received.

The archer hauled his upper half off the floor, every nerve on fire and every muscle taut to the point of snapping. He swiped the sweat off his furrowed brow with the back of his hand and dragged his legs up under him in a kneeling position. He tucked himself back in his pants and resisted the urge to scream again, his hands balling into fists on top of his tensed thighs. He stared blankly at the floor and listened to the muffled sounds of Natasha showering from behind the closed bathroom door.

Part of him was railing at him to get up, go to her, apologize till his throat bled and beg her not to go. But even that desperate, childish part of him still wouldn't dare ask for her forgiveness. There was no way in hell he would ask for that. The squeak of the water shutting off made him flinch, and when she cracked open the door to let the steam escape from the small washroom it was all he could not to let fly a stream of curses; he could see even from his spot on the floor that she was trembling violently as she stood in front of the sink and inspected the still bleeding wound on her neck in the fogged mirror.

Ironically it was the professional assassin in him that finally made him get up. Underneath everything, the pain, the self-loathing, an insistent little voice wouldn't let him ignore that he knew where the med kit was in his bag and that she needed to be patched up properly before she left or it would raise eyebrows and risk her cover. He forced himself to his feet and rummaged in his duffle for the travel med kit. Extracting what he needed, he gently knocked on the door, clearing his throat and meeting her blue gaze in the mirror but only briefly.

Natasha slowly turned, wrapped in a towel and her curls damp against her head. Her eyes flickered down to the antiseptic, gauze pad and medical tape in his hand and back up to his face. After a tense moment she craned her head back in a silent admission that she did need the medical attention. Clint swallowed hard and affixed a neat little square of gauze to her wound, trying to touch her skin as little as possible because he couldn't trust himself not to let even a light touch turn into him gathering her into his arms and never letting her go.

He finished his task and nodded slightly, retreating from the bathroom and stumbling back to the couch, sitting down heavily as another wave of dizziness rolled over him. God everything hurt. It felt like his mind had been turned inside out, wrung like a dishrag and left wadded up in the corner of his skull. He sat in a hunched over heap listening to the redhead dress and gather her gear, quick and efficient as always. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, though really they all meant the same thing:  _Don't leave_. 

The spy crossed the room behind him and stood at the door, the old brass knob creaking as she turned it.

"Natasha-" He breathed, still staring down at the floor. She hesitated.

"Thank you."

The door shut. She was gone.


End file.
